The Grape Poem by Brian Arguello

Time ago, all your steps were taken with certainty.
The star strived for, strived toward,
Grew warmer and warmer.
Even in rain or in clouds.
Even in solitude.
The quite.
The loud.
Yes, even the clouds engulfing were tender to the cause.
So tender and welcomed, dubbed worthy of trust and notice.
Tender, yes, and calling of focus.

Strayed focus as scattered locusts.

Certainty is gone.
Near is dawn and time is scared.
Agendas are burned as new worlds are conjured.

Now, the grape is not so enticing, but the whole vine.
Like a small girl, you were caught,
Staring at the sun in awe.
But the sun is only a star,
Burning as do many more,
Truer as the passing hour.
The rays were warm, though.
It is winter, and the lure grows weaker.

The season is for the taking.
To take the dark with the night,
To take heed and keep sight.
To hold that star in the eye,
To hold that star from afar.