You turn around and come to face
A hole in the ground beside a tree
You come closer to have a gaze
A burrow - a den of crawling insects
You know each one of them
Crawling around on your skin
Like a disease on a tree's stem
Reaping the benefits, making you sick
Such is the lifestyle of parasites
Crunch - even the sounds they make
As you crush them beneath your boots
Causes your ears to bleed in ache
And you look down - a red hue
On the ground and around your boots
Parasites - even their blood clings to you
Having wasted enough time
You climb your way out of the burrow
And as you glance back at the den-
A withered tree, enshrouded in complete
Darkness like a black hole in space
Where no light can escape from
Not even the light that guided you home.
YOU ARE READING
Musings
PoetryA book encompassing my brain. Filled with poems, sketch stories and everything in between.
