Tag: poetry

I Stood at the Door

I Stood at the Door

By Ollie Adamson

I stood at the door,
But it was closed shut,
The hallway was empty,
And the floor oddly quiet,
This was the moment,
The one I had eagerly awaited,
Even partially rehearsed,
The record needed straightening,
Although steeped in anxiousness,
I needed this – to bring closure,
On this, my final day,
Undesired at work,
Accesses revoked,
Future pay suspended.

I stood at the door,
I had but one craving,
To explain the whys,
Why we saw things contrarily,
Why my wife and I had drawn lines in the sand,
To share the details of our plan,
A plan that included immunization,
But on our terms,
And in our time,
One that confirmed our love for our community,
One that considered dangerous precedents,
And what those could mean for our children,
A plan which studied numerous things at stake,
It was our plan.

I stood at the door,
To give a face and a name to the unvaccinated,
To attest that hesitancy and critical thinking,
In no way turns one’s back to science,
A future uncertain,
Five mouths to feed,
A needle at every corner,
And it would all go away,
But deep inside, a fire burned,
Stoked by fundamental principles,
Informed consent, self-ownership,
And the modelling of what we had taught our children,
That they are precious,
And their individual choices matter.

I stood at the door,
But no one was coming,
I roamed the lonely hallway,
And there in a doorway, someone stood,
I stopped and enquired,
“Would we be meeting?”
“It’s cancelled,” he said,
“So sorry,” he added,
Informing me, an afterthought,
And oblivious to the moment, he asked,
“Anything you’d like me to pass along?”
But how could he?
After all,
It wasn’t his story to tell.

The Young Ruler

The Young Ruler

By Ollie Adamson

You bowed once before,
Your cause came up empty,

You turn to us,
Expecting now that we should bend,

But not all are willing,
For some deem you unworthy of such honour,

It is true, one day, every knee shall bow,
But upward-looking eyes will not gaze at some boy,

They will see the almighty God,
The same God who looks down upon you,

You too will give an account,
For your life, and for your rule,

You invoke strong words,
And clench your velvet glove-covered iron fist,

But hear this and be forewarned,
Some are stirring,

Not desiring violence,
But merely to oppose the decree, “this is not optional.”