Array ( [sid] => 158599 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Wiggling in The Hole [time] => 2010-04-01 19:41:52 [hometext] => I must have been a little short on optimism when I keyed this little piece. [bodytext] => Scratching, clawing with bloodied fingers,
bare toes kicking with fury,
trying to slow the decent.
Slimy, grimy walls of muck
won’t allow a permanent hold.
Deeper, ever deeper you go.

The light’s gone
But, the sounds and smells remain;
sounds of millions in terror,
falling in their own holes,
struggling against the pull -
the relentless sucking force of life.

Above, the mother’s mother hunkers,
pushing against herself,
about to eject the lives within her,
into the holes over which she squats;
dispatching her babies on a one way
journey of suffering and despair.

Some see the light longer than others.
A few struggle courageously against the
inevitable fall to the bottom
where, finally, all become equals
in the nothingness of non-existence;
heaps; scraps; in a vile brew of decay.

All that was important about the struggle;
events and people along the way;
possessions, knowledge, and wisdom gained;
country, species, gender, wealth, power;
all gone, with only the matter remaining, to be reborn
to start the process anew, with ever diminishing purpose.
[comments] => 1 [counter] => 165 [topic] => 13 [informant] => Greenpostit [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Wiggling in The Hole


Wiggling in The Hole
Date: Thursday, 1st April 2010 @ 07:41:52 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: Greenpostit
Scratching, clawing with bloodied fingers,
bare toes kicking with fury,
trying to slow the decent.
Slimy, grimy walls of muck
won’t allow a permanent hold.
Deeper, ever deeper you go.

The light’s gone
But, the sounds and smells remain;
sounds of millions in terror,
falling in their own holes,
struggling against the pull -
the relentless sucking force of life.

Above, the mother’s mother hunkers,
pushing against herself,
about to eject the lives within her,
into the holes over which she squats;
dispatching her babies on a one way
journey of suffering and despair.

Some see the light longer than others.
A few struggle courageously against the
inevitable fall to the bottom
where, finally, all become equals
in the nothingness of non-existence;
heaps; scraps; in a vile brew of decay.

All that was important about the struggle;
events and people along the way;
possessions, knowledge, and wisdom gained;
country, species, gender, wealth, power;
all gone, with only the matter remaining, to be reborn
to start the process anew, with ever diminishing purpose.


This poem is Copyright © Greenpostit


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