Pang and Labyrinth in POETRY

Face down, crying in a puddle
Salting the earth with unfolding history.

Insects cling to the stringy tassels of disheveled hair

Lifeless as I am.

Mud in my ears, lightning in the sky
Drowning… the sounds of thunder.

The water level is rising, and I don’t care, content with a watery grave

Not gasping for air.

Things could change… on the surface
But the will to fight isn’t there.

I now prefer the sound of deafening silence, like a carrion without a eulogy; a vision of Egyptian Horus mistook by the Greeks and thee.

Frightened child there in the mud, a finger to his lip with soulful look…
… descending.

It’s now or never and I lack the strength to burrow into the ground, I scream to him for help, but not a single sound.

So I slam my fists into the mire, and lift my body, like a suction cup in the muck; then purge feculence with brutal upheaval.

The rain stops, and so do I

Breathe
- Uncomfortably

Collapsing back into putrescence, coughing up mud bubbles in my esophagus; I am consumed with emptiness, my feelings opaque…

.... with the emotion

......... every dove

............. leaves in its wake.

By: Jaye Eryk
Copyright 2008

Last updated June 28, 2017