underground, a poem | Somniat 1
I am in a place deep underground,
dilapidated and long forgotten,
where dust and mildew mix
into a sense of foreclosed nostalgia
that threatens to pull me under
into the weight of years.
Externally I’ve aged;
inwardly, I’ve only grown
more and more naïve;
this is the immovable spot
where I sit and am young still
as I wait for a sign,
a signal,
a burst of light,
a knock upon the head
to shock me into seeing stars
so that a constellation
might guide me
out of this place –
a point between
a moment ago
and now
that drags
like the fold of a dress
caught on a rusted nail
that begins to tear
as a soft and slender hand
tries ever so slightly
to pull it free.
by matt at shadow of iris
Shadows, a poem, follows. This has been underground, a poem. Thank you for reading.
The never ending moment. Why can’t it ever be the joyous ones. Those never seem to move in slow motion. That inward growth is hard work. From within ourselves we dig tunnels towards the light, leaving trails of fingernails and scratches. Yes, very hard work.
So glad you are back. Makes me smile. Yay!
welcome back..:)
Thank you, Neha, V.C. and Annie!!
I was interested to read your first post.
Thanks for your thoughtful comments on my blog. I don’t often write long, but when I do, all the words just tumble out. That E. Pound’s quote is lovely ~
Thank you for reading Heaven, and you are welcome!