Unburrowed

Finally, I can see above the smog of Satan
and glimpse the rose horizon, filtered and new.
I am still marked by the long days below,
silhouetted dark and bent, as I wait, brow furrowed,
for the bright dawn of innocent, clean intent
No more drunken, shrunken days – hidden in corners.
My upright spine will stretch to the light source,
and force my blinking, blinkered eyes to see the skies.
I look across at towers, steeples, minarets erect
and understand the need of human kind
to rise above the dross and reach heavenwards,
owning all the toss and turn of months to come.