Hell, or Something Like It

Darksomeness engulfs
Low fallow fields left
Firm as rock dried in sun,
Cold as crisp iceberg submerged.

Submariners stumble on
Unseen fissues, folds,
Crevasses, barren blisters
Of lifeless locked land.

Passengers punched their tickets,
Paid their fares, folded
Clothes, packed bags, braved
Jet lag just to be here.

Groping in obsidian night, all
Rend asunder suddenly, then
Rend again, rend again,
Ever tearing never ending

Souls unbending, breaking o’er
And o’er again in pain
Unmending, sending lame
Desires (unquenched fires) drowning.

Powdered blood evaporates
In self-blind souls enslaved in state
Of everlasting fruitless wait.

P.F. Hawkins


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