A/N: this poem is the most recent so far, written in December. However this is cowritten by two of my friends and I. I entirely wrote stanza four and five and helpd alittle with the structuring of the rest. You can kind of tell the difference between our styles.
Now this is a gothic poem about an insane girl who created this fantasy maze in her mind. Now you can take the pursuer as any type of symbolism you believe. During the entire poem the girl is curled up in a cell-like room that has a broken faucet. Take whatever you want from this, but just be sure to tell me in the comments :D
P.S. the plip plops getting bigger signify the noise getting louder (in her brain at least).
The Lugubrious Labyrinth
Plip, Plop. Plip, Plop.
The steady drip of a leaking faucet.
Falling, crashing. Falling, smashing—
A drum beats in my ears—my insanity.
Watching the water splash—again and again— I begin to ponder
Will I ever escape this Labyrinth, or forever be forced to wander?
Plip. Plop. Plip. Plop.
The droplets ricochet, echoing the time away,
In perpetual perplexity of a haunting entity.
The Labyrinth of no hope intertwines and ensnares like a long tangled rope.
In the plummeting plops of the plodding passages, there is no Noah’s ark.
Only the anguishing plunk, ongoing maze and oppressive dark.
Plip! Plop! Plip! Plop!
Pivoting at the plunking splash, mind stirring with stagnant wrath
I dash, a frantic flight of the maze’s twisting paths.
If only I had Ariadne’s string, or the escape of Icarus’s wings.
The pitter patter pursues me through the Labyrinth’s divergence,
My continued panicked canter only creates the noise’ resurgence.
PLIP! PLOP! PLIP! PLOP!
Fumbling in flee from death, my heart beats loudly as my harrowed breath.
Pounding, pounding, sounding away, the noise leads me astray.
Sprinting - corridor after corridor, but the dank air is too thick—I slip on the floor.
Closer is the badgering blare of my pursuer’s plods, petrified, out I call.
Too late do I discern, the Eye of Horus cannot see me—only could walls.
PLIP! PLOP! PLIP! PLOP!
I—three walls and the approaching noise contain—with all my thoughts inane,
Cower and crumble in cold sweat, my pursuer’s steady rhythm growing in threat.
My drawn, dreary body convulses in fear and fatigue, after running for a league.
Fall, fall, I fall to my knees, leaning back in rest if only for a moment.
I lose my hope to the shadows, and await an end to this terrible torment.
Plip. Plop. Plip, Plop.
The steady drip of a leaking faucet,
Falling, crashing. Falling, smashing:
The drum pounds on.
Collapsed in the corner I begin to ponder,
Will I live for too much longer?
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Poems
PuisiPoems I have written from years ago to now. For any of you looking for a love poem, you most likely will not find one here (unless I write one in the distant future because for some reason my brain short-circuited and thought I it would be a good id...
