Too many thoughts
clouding my mind.
Unending chatter,
unbearable clatter--
a cacophony of chaos,
and you ask what's the matter.
This anxiety grips me
like a mouse by a hawk.
Gripped in its talons over
marching battalions.
Trying to balance
on a beam long broken.
With peace never spoken,
squeeze of my shoulders
under fiery claws.
Teeth sink into my neck,
but the bite never stops.
A jaw endless
and relentless.
I fear the voices
will never quiet.
Their havoc
and riot.
Ceaseless,
yet needless.
I
just
want
Release.
.....................................................
But if you let me go now
I'll fall to the ground,
inevitable break:
a spine's final ache,
organs pierced by Earth's stake,
skin
torn down to the bones.
but maybe then
at least
the voices
would shut up.
About the Creator
Merrie Sanders
Writing for fun and as an escape from the everyday. After all, what is life for if not to create?
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More stories from Merrie Sanders and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Spring
The sun was high when Lance pulled off the road and into the dusty lot of the service station. The sign back at the hairpin--the first sign in a long time--said they just rolled into Hatter’s Creek, Population 63. It was small enough it didn’t appear on the handmap in Shelby’s lap, yet here it stood, the first backwater township on the fringes of the National Park. The plan was to gas up, restock the snack bag, and press on into the wilderness.
By Zack Graham4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
You capture anxiety so well in this poem. Great job!