Underworld

I step onto

what looks like solid ground

and begin to sink,

the pull of dark, nasty hands

on my ankles and calves,

I grab for a branch or root or rock

but nothing, nothing gives me hope

of staying above

the surface.

When I struggle the cold dark mud

attaches tentacles to my skin, sucking

me closer to the heart of the shadow.

I cry out and my mouth, too, fills with darkness.

All hope evaporates.

I give up.

My head falls forward, unconscious,

there is no air

down

here.

I am carried, hands passing me from

one to the next

shadowy figures emerge and disappear,

some menacing, others benign

sentinels of mystery.

I’m too tired,

too gone

to care

lulled into the deepest sleep

an incubation I may never return from

I’m too gone now.

too gone

to care.