Incubus
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Superstition! that horrid incubus which dwelt in darkness, shunning the light, with all its racks, and poison chalices, and foul sleeping draughts, is passing away without return. Religion cannot pass away. By Thomas Carlyle
Incubus weaves a titillating tale.
Swathed in a velvet flame that stirs the soul.
Trembling and relieved, I sought trial,
In the little death of the cyanide hole.
I dip my toes deeper into the sand
The ocean feels akin to a million diamonds.
Clad in azure plaid, I lie a breeze in my hand
I have the sense to fall in love with this island.
Epoch is similar to a roller coaster.
Yet I'm not tied down properly.
Perhaps I shouldn't proceed any faster.
My hands are busy with the air around me.
Sporadically I worry over the future
I wonder how much fear I have allowed.
Struggled to maintain, came up to bode suture
That seems to be the marvel among the crowd.
But now, I've attempted to understand
I must be the one controlling the wheel.
Whatever the future holds, steadfast stand.
Without trepidation, all triumphs might feel.
I'll be here no matter what happens tomorrow
I shall thus desist from being a layer of the hive.
It proves to be the root of my shared sorrow.
Will I favor water over wine yet still be safe to drive?
Were we given to a succubus or an incubus?
Stars veiled by a few straws will soon appear.
The final site has incubus tombs or mage insipidus.
It cast a dark shade across the earth and is near.
I'll be there no matter what happens tomorrow
In the midst of anguish, that would compel.
I'll be there no matter what happens tomorrow.
With eyes and arms, a soul never hurts to love well.
Let us adore ourselves before it becomes a crime.
The white moon is caressingly rising in a blue sight.
How acute a day, relies on how well you are sublime.
This story makes my future appear so bright.
1st place contest winner
Written: March 07, 2023
Pick-A-Title, Vol 35 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Copyright © Sotto Poet | Year Posted 2023
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