Monday, November 10, 2008


The polluted waves
of raw sewage
wash up on shore
unaffected by the passage of time.
They flood the corridors of my brain.
All I see is dark.
All I feel is uncomfortable dampness.
I keep the walls within reach
of my fingers,
blindly groping
for a way out.


Art and Poetry said...

This ones very dark and depressing, I always feel that a depessing poem creates a depressing world.

Dymphna (4HisChurch) said...

You are right. But, sometimes poetry can be therapy.

matthew said...

Very nice work. I love this one.

Dymphna (4HisChurch) said...

Thanks, Matthew!

Poems © Gemma W. Wilson