Blackhole

A poem from my graphite and poetry series, "Monochromes and Trajectories" and entry to Maningning Miclat international poetry competition.

There is a deep dark pit in my chest.

I imagined it as boiling amalgam.

Pungent, stinging, stench- an all men’s cursing

What’s beneath, I can tell not.

 

There is occasional grumbling, thundering, thumping, screaming, wailing.

There could be creatures; hideous- looking creatures.

What’s hovering on the surface could be harpies;

those that might’ve lured Ulysses to his dread.

They flew and lived and clattered in dense circling motions like fireflies seduced by a light bulb:

Hearts will somewhat, somehow, always beat…  only to beat fastest to the one that will stop its beating.  

Round and round and round they flew; putrid beaks. Spiteful scowls.

There could be beasts that prowl and growl

gnawing my cardiac wall of flesh and scarlet filth.    

 

There is a deep, dark pit in my chest.

What lies beneath I really can tell not

Or maybe it has none;

Deride me of thy pleasure of nothingness!

Pain is best served in a platter and dined with knives - all sizes.

Loneliness is cold meat, best served with warm wine,

best drank with a golden chalice:

It’ll go down my throat as cold, cerulean fire; it will remain cold as it reaches my stomach.

There was an interminable blank; it feeds, that I knew.

 it feeds on light, defecates darkness.

The idea amuses me 

then I become none. 

Author's Note

All stories. All black.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

this reminds me of Mr. Sardonicus...and old movie i saw when a kid...he was a lonely man with a distorted scary face...wore a mask to hide it...lived in the darkness of his own secret...similar here.

intense, haunting piece....

nicely done, Mel...

jacob