The Tunnel

A Poem by Ian

A journey into the abyss.

Reaching farther and farther into the abyss,
I could see the red streak marks glisten against the walls.
Sitting, rowing with the bright orbs amidst,
Floating and excreting eerie calls.

The oars dipping, plunging, fell into the crimson water,
Then dripped, and shined as they arose.
All the lustrous orbs morphed as if being molded by a potter,
Taking whatever abstract form they chose.

I sat upon my small boat of wood,
Creating the same, constant motion.
With all the melodic tune a clock could,
The ghastly forms swayed, giving no notion.

Down, down the current took me,
As the cave walls closed in around.
The apparitions now flew around in glee,
As I could see the last bit of ground.

The blood-like water swelled, slowly arise,
Diminishing the area from the water to the ceiling.
The water rushed at me as though sending me to my demise,
Bringing me to the feared horrid black being.

My heart started beating faster and faster,
As if being pounded by a large metal hammer.
I wished that I lay in my room with walls of plaster,
Instead of staring mortified, at the crimson glamour.

Then, as I could feel the stone against my head,
I truly thought I would be drowned.
After this thought a light shown ahead,
And I thought of meeting solid ground.

As the tunnel came to its end,
I was met by a vast, ashen land.
And as I noticed I was at a cliffside's edge,
I stared down at a waterfall most grand.

Giant, crimson spikes stared back into my eyes,
As I recalled my previous thought.
Into my ears poured my high pitched cries,
When I remembered how, in life, I had been mistaught.