The Maelstrom
The Maelstrom
Sinking into the dark depths, why can't I feel naught but warmth.
Clinging to the stark past, why can't Ieal away the wounds.
Every trial to ascend, met with a heavier shackle.
Never revealed to be mended, set with a silver sickle.
Breath anfter breath, the biological urge to stay alive and well.
No time to ponder why, or how, just knead the water and try to live.
Alas this living death, the neurological purge from gray and null.
Sublime wonder nigh, I know, just need it to wander and cry, survive.
How simpler were the days, without worry nor scurry.
Coin meant so little, your brain and mettle to settle.
How simpler were the days, without curry nor scurvy.
Rain did belittle, your grain and kettle to spittle.
An infinite pull, seemingly inescapable tug of fate.
Ah how I would love to give up, if not for these damned, blessed anchors.
The pang of each heartbeat, rings of sorrows never to retreat.
The endless nights and unchanging dreams, the light but a faint notion once known.
A finite lull, seethingly intolerable lug of weight.
Ah how I would love to give up, if not for these charred, bleached rancor.
The bang of each drumbeat, gongs of morrow ever so fleet.
The soundless nights and unending screams, the blight of a tainted potion once downed.
Haunted endlessly by the bright letter upon my bossom, alas the baths do little to naught.
Is it what life has become, a culminatino of your past, a black hole of your past mistakes?
Mistake me not, for I still do hope, the underlying belief notwithstanding.
Retake me not, forsaken hope, the prying eyes of Volstagg.
The days and nights mold together untill they are but one, the same painful passage of space-time.
Alcohol does naught but make the night come faster, blessed slumber of nothingness.
Fleeting afterimages of what could have been, what should have been.
Tomorrow shall be a new day, repeated series of events simply rearranged.
Until the day I tire of the repeated mantra, "It'll all work out."
Thank you for reading! All comments and criticisms are welcome.
on which note I am kind of having trouble just writing down my feelings, which is what I believe poetry should be, and keeping to the "format" of poetry being certain symmetry, etc. If anyone has any advice, as I know poetry has a strict, yet loose, definition, i would highly welcome it :)
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