The Vortex

The mind it fears, the mind it runs, the mind it sinks into the vortex.
A punch, a slap then silence endless
All that means freedom ceases.
The mind it rages, the mind it cries, the mind it drowns in the vortex
A shiv, a spike then ichor black
All that means love is taken
The mind it cowers, the mind it fades, the mind it dies in the vortex.

Black Water Deep

Lines snap in the chill wind
Boards creak under the relentless
Attention of the black water deep.
Salt stings the fresh cuts of labour
And the stench of 6 months sweat
Fouls the air and turns the stomach.
Comes the cry "All hands...",
Cut off by the angry retort of the black water deep.
It is not repeated
all men aboard know what needs be done.
A momentary lull,
A simple sailors prayer echos across the deck
and then the battle is met.
2 hours? 2 days? 2 weeks?
Time spent fighting the cruel mistress is immeasurable
You can only mark it by the tally of lost souls
10 men sacrificed to pay the cost of freedom on the black water deep.

Cold hands of Chaos

Where does one go
when the red blood of life, of love,
turns to the blue blood of hate.

The cold, dead, hands of Chaos
ripping away my mind,
fracturing my peace.

No longer teathered to sanity,
adrift in the miasma.

Who am I?
Who are you?
What are we?

Endless questions
spinning through the mental chasm.
Seeking,
always seeking,
never satisfied.

Do I deserve contentment?
Do I have anything to offer in return?

The cold, dead, hands of Chaos
gripping my throat,
choking my cries,
silencing my anguish.

The blue blood of hate
consuming my heart.

Where do I turn?
Who can help?

A voice of reason in the darkness...

"Go away!" Screams the Chaos.
"You have no place here!"

Blood is thicker than Water

Little drops of life slowly trickle
down the surface of a barren landscape.
From whence do they issue forth?
Who can say?

I know not why they march on,
nor why they refuse to cease their journey.
Is it of great importance?
Who can say?

Straight backed, blank faced and stoic,
they seem possessed by a surety of purpose.
Do I envy them?
Who can say?

The little drops join a great torrent
and flow forward with a cry of gleeful rage.
Should I mourn them?
Who can say?

The Void

A chasm of nothingness.
It fills you like cold, inky, waters,
penetrating the very depths of your consciousness
till no trace of humanity remains.
You are a mere corporeal form,
never engaging with the world that surrounds you.
Disengaged, detached and distant.
Swallowed by endless, spiraling introspection.
The more you struggle and rage against it,
the more it draws you in; like quick sand for the mind.
A black hole that envelopes, not only you,
but all bodies that surround you.
Sucking the life out of everything
and slowing time to an unbearable crawl.
From whence does this void originate?
What was the genesis of its' being?
From a small seed of self doubt, or rather, self loathing
a large, gaping, darkness can be born.
Like all seeds, it only grows with nourishment,
to deny it sustenance is to win the fine fight,
but, how can we do this when this world seems intent on feeding it?
Feeding it in abundance.

Bleak - A Haiku

Black plague of torment
Unrequited love does burn
Swift death must follow

The Walk Home

Walking lonely late at night,
dark and stormy; no more light.
Lightning flashes, thunder booms,
waking sleepers in their tombs.

Keeping silent on the street,
cold and foggy; can't see feet.
Rain is pounding, gales blow;
freezing dreamers' ethereal glow.

Hoping on a final prayer,
damp and clammy; almost there.
Pain is stabbing, vision blurred;
crying curses never heard.

Sitting idle, home at last,
warm and comfy; pain has past.
Mind is ticking, open thoughts,
recalling memories time distorts.