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SheolThere used to be others here, once.But that was a long time ago. They told me pretty stories, fables, Things I have never felt, Touched, heard, or tasted. She, I think she was my mother, Spoke of color and light, She spoke of stars above, A world without pain so constant You forget it is there, But it was all a lie. There is no light, Just this suffocating darkness. I trip and stumble, My fingers are oozing again. I place them in my mouth, And taste salt, metal, grime. I am down to the wiggly long Slimy creatures, the carcasses Are stripped to the hard parts. Once again I fling myself upward, Towards the alleged stars, My claws are outstretched, ready To tear down anything they grasp. I fall back to the wet, black ooze; I hear a crack and feel a pain Intense enough for me to notice. I run a hand down my leg. Yes. Tensing, I snap the hard part Back into place. It is agony, But I am used to agony, What else is there? Then IT comes, This nameless thing I Cannot describe with any Of my four senses. It burns my eyes and melts The comforting darkness, As I realize, too late That maybe, just maybe The myths were true after all. |
Stumbling back, trying To escape this brightness But even behind my eyes it seeps Finally, my darkness shelters me Again; yet IT is still there. A voice calls from IT, “Come child, come Come to me, and face yourself, Surrender to me And I will cleanse you Believe, and I will save you. Come, child, come, Come serve me and be free.” I cry out, ragged, “NO!” And it vanishes with a sigh But my pounding heart tells me It will be back. For me. For you.
----Andrea J. Graham
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