When I re-read Posey’s poem “Assured,” I imagine it is spirit food for young poets and artists trying to figure out the path of becoming a poet when there appears to be none. I imagine myself the ages of my grandchildren, taking this poem to heart when the future doesn’t feel so assured. In the poem, we all stand up in the flickering of life that can only happen with dark and bright, pain and rest, wrong and right, and the worst and the best. ASSURED Be it dark; be it bright; Be it pain; be it rest; Be it wrong; be it right— It must be for the best. Some good must somewhere wait, And sometime
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