Behind Drawn Curtains - A caravan of poems

Octopus in my Soul

You see, I can't wake up; I try again and again

My eyes are open; alas! They can seldom see.

I let my mind move, but the grey matter is dormant in despair.

Are those tentacles that swim around my face?

Their touch soft and poriferous,

Yet those around my limbs are tougher,

Ruffians you may call, they cut through my body and flesh.

I take gulps in vain for my famished lungs,

I instead taste death, murky with blood and venom.

I try and try to break free, and I fail and fail again.

Is this the purgatory? Perhaps I can never know.

The tentacles look like limbs now as my vision clears further.

I am trapped by the Octopus in my Soul.

Do I live is secondary, the question is –

Are my limbs strong and incisive enough to cut?

Through the animal that cages me?

The question is can I let my spirit lose, to swim past

The primal moans of insatiate cravings for the tangible;

Momentous is the feeling of hope –

That you stand waiting on the other side, under the clear sky

With stretched arms to caress and behold.

Again the question is "Are you?"