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Thick darkness conquers each scrambling sense
No longer sure if my eyes are closed or open
If my stagnant limbs are futile, or just tense

Can I compose myself if I count to ten?
Whatever fate this is, who got to decide?
Some God somewhere? Or the work of men.

Am I still breathing? Or am I tongue-tied
It remains irrelevant, only worms will hear
Is it blood I leak? Or warm formaldehyde 

Waiting, will an apparition or vision appear?
Wonders of the mind, or listless pondering soul
How long will my existence remain unclear

Eventuality, faithfully in control
This dirt, this depth, disguises how I did arrive
Do I lay here in pieces, or am I whole
Am I dead.....or am I buried alive.


July 5, 2022
5 stanza Terza Rima contest
Sponser: L. Milton Hankins

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