intrepid vines choke life with anger
ripple through mine fields in slander
with snakes and blackened salamander
worms slurp my brain in warring militias
splitting my thoughts, forgetting my wishes
then mirrors reflect my life as fictitious
my status now cracked, a mossy symbol
I hang in effigy no one claims to resemble
anonymously, my hand begins to tremble
rotting in my tomb, I begin to fall
through that dark vacated wall
my screaming silenced, my last call
a poet I was, unknown and frazzled
blinded by words I tried to unravel
a race to nowhere in a pit of gravel
dungeons and daemons my pen did supply
with dank decomposition of flesh nearby
now buried alive, I sigh my last sigh
in a journey unknown of borrowed sorrow
I feel the fabric of entrapment
Like Poe’s prison of morbid enchantment
and I once again become a tiny fragment
suspended in a void like a damaged magnet
Gives me shivers.
darkness from my subconscious?
Richard, this is fabulous. Such vivid imagery…I feel just like that. Great poem!
this darkness must be coming up from some of my past when I was on the verge of depression …not from present…thanks my friend
How desolate! The definition of solitary…
some dark parts of my past emerging, thanks for the comment, Ash
Reblogged this on Poor Poets Society's Blog.
Wonderful descriptions here, Richard! I can feel the words unravelling with the gruesome images!
appreciate your analysis, Christy…the dark poetry is a change from my normal genre of meta-surreal thanks