The Vortex (Revisited)

She speaks as if there's air to breathe,
But there is not. She's far away, above,
Ashore, as I again am spinning, being
Drawn below, to drown within this
Growing darkness, octopus's ink, it
Seems. Why does it issue out of me?
Is what has passed so poisonous?
Is there some sort of chemical, which
Should be here, but isn't now? I wonder,
As I spin and fall. Would death be solace,
Final sleep? I cannot answer, cannot
Speak. I have no air to breathe.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 18 times
Written on 2011-10-08 at 00:38

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