The Block

Beware the coming tide that will envelope your spirit,

Darkening the recesses of your mind as you weigh,

A fog denser than mortal man has ever experienced.

 

Beware.

 

Beware the malaise and depression of midwinter,

The marrow of your bones chilled to a glacial rigid frost,

Bringing despair from the magma of your bosom.

 

Beware.

 

Beware the desolation of being unable to scribe,

Thoughts to page imprisoned in the Broca’s area,

Echoing like a skipping record for days going on months.

 

Beware.

 

Beware the sense of doom from within your mortal psyche,

Enslaved to the pen but unable to displace your quill,

To impress even the slightest of prosaic mentation.

 

Beware.

 

Beware.

12/12/2024