Have you seen the night sky? Our night sky?
Point-speckled with pinhole twinkles,
An inky velveteen from which you fly.
Or flew.
Now you've arrived, would you return?
We feel like family, so we'd like to know
If the paint-splattered fabric of infinity calls you
When are you likely to go?
Return?
You can stay as long as you like, of course!
Our night sky is more precious than even our day.
It bookends and divides eternity,
How long do you think you'll stay?
You are welcome in our space
Our place is your place
You are welcome, though I'm sure we seem unrefined
Maybe gauche, provincial or behind the times?
Silly us, with our rockets, our wars, our incapable minds
We were going to tidy up the rivers, the seas,
The poverty, the hubris, the whole humankind.
About the Creator
Ian Vince
Erstwhile non-fiction author, ghost & freelance writer for others, finally submitting work that floats my own boat, does my own thing. I'll deal with it if you can.
Six Feet Under
Buried alive. What a horrible way to go. Yazz lay there, in her own thoughts. What else could she do? She was hungry, thirsty, tired, mentally, and physically exhausted, and more than anything, she was bored. She hoped she would die of boredom before anything else, anything else would've been more painful. Like many people had, she and her friends had talked about what they reckon the worst ways to die were, it was a morbid subject, but it came up every now and again. Yazz had always been one to argue her point on drowning, others had mentioned burning alive, slowly and painfully bleeding to death, hung drawn and quartered, and being starved to death. It was strange that none of them had considered being buried alive, it had never come up. But now, she was thinking back to those conversations her and her friends had had, how could they have not thought about it? It took a lot longer than the others, you were completely confined, you couldn't move or do anything, you just had to wait, until your body was physically unable to support a life system anymore, which could take up to four days. Four! By far the longest out of all of them. She recounted some of these conversations just to try and pass the time, anything to pass the time. It was difficult to know how much time had passed since she had been underground, it was difficult to know anything. There were many things that Yazz didn't know, she didn't know where she was, she didn't know how she'd got into the coffin, she'd just woken up there. Yazz also didn't know what time it was, or even what day it was, she guessed at Tuesday, it was Sunday evening when she'd been buried alive, intentionally, and although it had felt like weeks had passed, she was still alive, which means she hadn't died from dehydration, and therefore it couldn't have been more than four days.
By Liam Storma day ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Spectacular!!! 👏🏼🎉
Great poem!