The Abyss

I stare into the abyss,

And it is familiar,

And I can name all of its

Fantastical beasts which writhe

Unguarded in collected myopia,

Short-sighted serpents

Colliding amongst canopias

Half gathered in the corners –

There are no opticians

In purgatory

Nor are there bakers,

Or tinkers, or bankers,

Though you can expect to find

Your former lovers:

The Perdita’s, the Lolita’s, the Cain’s,

Embodiments of loss,

Seduction, murder

Stark in the flesh;

Each one brilliant,

Each one to blame,

The past combustible

With repeated mistakes,

Which, once stacked,

Are explosive enough to wreath

All of limbo in flames

Where are our angels?

Can we recognise a face?

Or do we wander unseen

Fallen from favour and grace

In a continuous parade unravelling

Biblical verse,

Disciples turning circles

To end where they meet,

Searching for someone to wash their

Hands and feet in a dry land

The dust clouding common sight

I stare into the abyss,

And it is the same,

All of the beasts named

With blind blunt syllables

Dropping through the air

With the casting of the first stone,

Their pelts fair game

For a wondrous throne

I unfurl a ‘Welcome’ mat

And unpack a suitcase;

Today, no man’s land is my home

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Author:

Amber R Walker, Hull, Creative Writer, Bookmaker, Lover of art

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