The Tunneling


The whispering carves
a question into my ear-
one may think that whispers
are soft things, and perhaps
if one were sitting sweet and alone
that might be true,
But these are not soft things

These are jagged splinters
shards of mirrored glass
smashed and balled up in the palm,
twisted and stuffed in the ear;
crystaline snakes
that work their way in and out
of the surface of my mind

Where once there was brain,
now there are walls
And the question?
Well, I've long forgotten
But it really doesn't matter
The tunneling has taken its toll



Poetry by R.W.S. The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 28 times
Written on 2024-02-18 at 00:14

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