Black Water (Whixall Moss)

by | Sep 24, 2015 | Poetry | 0 comments

Time for me is immaterial
as I lie waiting – a deep hollow of entrapment
blackness leaching into my sunless soul
a completeness of no reflection. I am totally blind,
but I can sense movement – and I wait.
Why am I waiting? I wait because I am starved.
Starved as the Savannah begs rain for fresh grass; yet
like female mosquito’s , I demand warm breathing life.
The mosquito’s are fleeting. I am longevity.

Eon’s of history define me, as
from the birth canal – I entered a Pre-historic land
human sacrifices were consumed victuals
preservation my passage of rite. Autonomy was mine,
but I sensed change – and I feared.
Why was I fearful? Fearful because I was sinking.
Sinking as a drought ridden waterhole stagnates; yet
Like a wallowing hippo, my skin splits and cracks.
The hippo collapses. I am dying.


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