Dripping wet, colored with blood,
My thirst is undenied.
Emotions flood, the dark is warm,
And cradles me as if I died.
There was a time I prayed for light.
Now that my true self has come alive,
My chants can be heard for the night.
My survival… for which I feed.
Down the road, the bells do chime.
A sound of muse for death and dine,
Calling through the halls and tombs.
A resting place… though not for mine.
Dancing on the edge, wide awake.
I walk the earth steady and firm.
Death has found and tries to take.
Out of reach I squirm.
(I first wrote this October 2004 and I’ve revised it. In my mind death represents many things and this poem is more about survival.)
Credit:
Photo (woods) by butkovicdub
