Craig H. Stewart
Quicksand.
The fires have burned low to shimmering embers,
Scattered across the floor like a million dying suns
they sputter their last into the cold, smoking sand.
Now the silence and the darkness, reach icy fingers
around my battered mind, fill my stomach with sorrow
and my broken heart with longing, so pure and
unyielding, i wonder, will i see the sun again?
familiar sounds echo through my mind... the way you
laughed, the way you cried, each memory entwined, a
searing lash combined from woven hatred and
everlasting time.
I hate you Fate, you spiteful sprite, made both from
darkness and of light, you give us beauty and
heart-felt love, just to smash us down from high
above. in the light, when you dance, we all dance
with you, but when the sun goes out, you bury us
all...
In the quicksand my feet start to sink, tiny grains
of glass grating all around my toes,
deeper now i go...
The rising flow, sand and water, tears and sorrow...
I have nothing left, no vines to climb, no ropes are
thrown towards me this time, the rising cold is in
my soul and i'm going... going...
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