As the path got steeper,
Pushed along by gravity
I find I can’t oppose.
My hands and face are being torn
By nettle, thorn and creeper,
And darkness hangs upon me
like a suit of cold wet clothes.
Then I’m thrown into a clearing
Where no living thing would venture,
All around me flesh is rotting
And I’m sickened by the smell.
Then somewhere in the distance
Comes the sound of rolling thunder,
While nearby voices whisper
Saying what, I cannot tell.
Now I’m lying in this putrid place
In terror that consumes me,
My heart is like a hammer
On an anvil deep inside.
The thunders rolling nearer
With It’s flashes of fork lightning,
And the voices are still whispering
Saying what, I can’t decide.
Now the ground begins to tremble
With a roar to match the thunder,
And the lightning strikes come faster
As the storm is overhead.
Then I feel that I am soaking
For the rain has started falling,
All at once I wake up sweating
Once more conscious in my bed.
Copyright©Alan Gilbert 2011.
No comments:
Post a Comment