surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
Death rattle
It awakens from its slumber. A great old one. A bellow comes up from below. A beast untamed, a monster unfurled. There’s a giant in the abyss. There’s a leviathan in the void. A colossal extraordinaire. A massive mammoth. A gargantuan hulk. An immense mountain of a cyclops. A titanic elephant of a whale. A dreadnought. A Goliath mastodon. A titan juggernaut. It’s after our ships. It hears our submarines. An enormous himalaya. It’s a mega pharaoh. It’s a prodigious hero. It needed no directions. No GPS, no compass. It owns these waters. A majestic monolith. A towering kraken. The legend is true. It’s come for us all. The myth is a lie. The superstitions can’t help us. A monarch of oblivion, it’s a shadow. It stretches forth into the vastness of the ocean. It’s belching dooms everything in the sea. It’s a blight on the radar. It’s a mistake on the horizon. Sonar can’t capture it. It’s nature is to hide. It preserves, it’s submerged. It will swallow our tears. It will bathe in our blood. The surface is sinking. Our chances are zero. We already lost. We await our watery graves. We wait to drown like the others. Our deaths won’t go recorded. Our surrender won’t leave the whirlpool. How many fathoms do we have left before our death rattles leave our souls? Our battle cries meant nothing. This giant squid brings us home. This ugly octopus brings us home. Cthulhu calls us home
By Anna Torres5 years ago in Poets
