In a room
blindingly white like the Sun
in the shape of a oblong
triangle that interminably folds
and unfolds outside control.
The way of a loosening gyre,
faster and faster out of hand.
Frequent now.
The room rockets forward
a man cannot stand in it
sight is blurred from the speed
and speech is obsolete,
useless and suffocated
by the black winds.
Neither a ray of hope nor
a whisper of Mary can penetrate
it's mutable depths. This is where
the jellyfish and lava crab swim.
YOU ARE READING
IN HEAVEN - everything is fine
PoetryPoems from yesterday. Written from when the house is asleep and my mind is at rest. Poems about what I'm feeling some are good. I'll try to do more and consistent even if not many people read them.
