Loathe

A figure on the horizon, its back turned... you bekon to it, and it beckons to some distant, unseen person too.

I dreamt that the sky was lit with sulfur,

and that the worst of us were running

(shrieking, shouting, crying and bereft)

from a thing that was simply sorrow.

 

I turned to see the place to which they were fleeing,

and saw only more in flight,

and they were rushing without pause

towards the place where I was standing.

 

I too began to run,

but which-ever way I looked

I saw the encroachment of angry faces,

all focused on me.

 

Terror gripped my soul;

my bowels cut-loose in a torrent of panic,

and shame ripped through me,

as I dropped to the obsidian ground.

 

I wept and shook with fear,

as their voices overwhelmed the sound of my sobbing.

The last, desperate, conclusion I sadly reached

was that each face was my own.

Author's Note

The panic that awakens you at night, is your desperate self fighting the world you make it live in.