The chasm

The dreaded days are near

with every thrum of blood

the chasm,

is drawing nigh.

It looms in the distance

embedded in treacherous ground

yet, I suspect the view,

will be sublime

The dreaded days inch closer,

my limbs are tight and tense

How will I bear?

The question ricochets

till I’m tired of the sound

The days have lost their hue,

passerby’s geste

too bright, too carefree,

my ears are buzzing

a part of me wants to share

but I don’t want them fussing

I take it all in stride

a serious face set in plaster,

this is who I am —

a bit of a mute machine

a medley of cells, making the

legs push me closer.

Belonging to no master,

I get lost in the steps

of an old dance

The dreaded days are upon me

I want to reverse the time,

what have I done?

My body is cold and I’m all alone

The temperatures plummet

faint lines and cracks, taint

my strength, and

I let out a howl,

ugly and feral.

People come running.

Inquiring,

What’s the matter?

I drop my head.

They don’t see

the chasm

Tear tracks stain my cheeks

I tell them it was a false alarm

they look dubiously around

but everything seems safe and sound

so they move along

leaving me

and the chasm

The dreaded days are here

I stand above the chasm

breathless with a rim-rod back,

and,

stare with startled eyes

The clock’s hand moves forward,

I have not tumbled down the jagged edge

but I stand, firm and surprised

for it was not a chasm as I’d imagined

but a little hole in the ground