Rotten wood creaks below my weight,
The dampness of a seafloor bed
never left, permeating
every inch of my skin.
Inescapable
What secrets lie deep
in the hull of this behemoth?
I know no secrets except that which is myself.
It is a maze down here.
Twisting, turning, endless discomfort.
Unease.
What skeletons will arise, should I scavenge?
Do I want to uncover these secrets?
What will happen if I do?
Will others come and plunder this hollow?
Will others take advantage of this lapse?
No, I cannot think like that, I will not think like that.
This is the conclusion,
As a drop of seawater from the shattered mast
anoints my head.
~~
My lovely lovely readers, we've hit 100 views!! Loving you all xx
~~
I've tried to stray from traditional "hey here are some rhymes" poems, but explore imagery and other forms of poetry a bit more. Again, drawing influence from Bei Dao, Sylvia Plath and my own experiences, (also that friend that keeps telling me to write), this opacity and experienced-based poem arose from the depths of my cranial cavity.
This can be read as a sequel to beach, or can be read alone.
~~
vote, comment, leave suggestions and requests!!
~~
aek
YOU ARE READING
anthology
Poesíaan-tho-lo-gy /anˈθɒlədʒi/ -noun- a published collection of poems or other pieces of writing. (Dictionary.com, 2020) welcome to my world, the world of anais euphoria king. try not to cry.
