On a Walk To the Bottom of a Page
It starts off with a familiar route
and follows a course of well lit streets
where the incline is not too steep,
takes you pass the local shops,
the bus stop and the entrance
to a park. Then it all goes downhill
from here, inducing a kind of hypnotic
state where everything
begins to unravel and float away
on sorties in search of meaning
and the more damaged
seek out a refuge and try to mend
what is broken. Words wander
the dark like lost ghosts to find what
is missing and a vacant space
each can fill and call its own.
Yet so much falls in between.
Animals are running loose
and the menagerie you keep caged
inside your head has been breached.
That flashing light up there ahead
is becoming ominous. Something
is closing in. Voices are everywhere
having escaped the throats of those
to whom they once belonged,
roaming the world to seduce an ear.
Time now to roll yourself up into a ball
and get smaller until you are
no more than a tiny dot
at the bottom of a page -
then get out of here
.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment