Sometimes I feel as though I’m sliding off
a deflated world where skeletal vines suspend
me, the abyss beneath – a wormhole to the Devil’s lair.
As misfortunes grow leaving me hollow,
exhausted, destitute as a third world country, my
feet exposed to jagged dirt depleting the sanguine fluid
that nourishes – barbed wire tightens its grip
with vengeance. I sob rivers of albumen when
rigid skin harvested over years of excessive cultivation
crack like egg-shells, but only small enough
to contain my yolk. Even though my internal fluids
ferment, this core refuses to be petrified – not even
Pompeii’s fury can coat me with sediment to obstruct
time, partially exposed to treasures out of reach.
Eyes ascend, knees dismounted, and hands unburdened
to catch omnipotent benevolence, I see the
fluorescent journeys, chateaus where transparent
spirits reign, on this battleship of immense infatuation.
© Donna J. Sanders
Excerpt from the book “Ataraxia”
About the Author
Donna is a freelance writer and blogger in West Palm Beach, FL. She is the author of Ataraxia – a poetry collection about the struggles we face, the state of the world and how to see beauty in the simplest things, and Cardboard Signs – poems to bring awareness about homelessness, mental illness, self-esteem and the injustices many face.
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