{"sf1_id":616271,"sf2_id":"P1E4K3on","title":"The Maelstrom","author":"Ephemeral_Dreams","words":422,"posted_at":"2013-11-20T09:16:00.000Z","tags":["M/solo","No-Yiff","Poetry"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/616271-the-maelstrom","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/P1E4K3on","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/58/a3/58a3dd48-0aca-4a70-8add-59603c82f186","description":"","content":" **The Maelstrom**\n\nSinking into the dark depths, why can't I feel naught but warmth.\n\nClinging to the stark past, why can't Ieal away the wounds.\n\nEvery trial to ascend, met with a heavier shackle.\n\nNever revealed to be mended, set with a silver sickle.\n\nBreath anfter breath, the biological urge to stay alive and well.\n\nNo time to ponder why, or how, just knead the water and try to live.\n\nAlas this living death, the neurological purge from gray and null.\n\nSublime wonder nigh, I know, just need it to wander and cry, survive.\n\nHow simpler were the days, without worry nor scurry.\n\nCoin meant so little, your brain and mettle to settle.\n\nHow simpler were the days, without curry nor scurvy.\n\nRain did belittle, your grain and kettle to spittle.\n\nAn infinite pull, seemingly inescapable tug of fate.\n\nAh how I would love to give up, if not for these damned, blessed anchors.\n\nThe pang of each heartbeat, rings of sorrows never to retreat.\n\nThe endless nights and unchanging dreams, the light but a faint notion once known.\n\nA finite lull, seethingly intolerable lug of weight.\n\nAh how I would love to give up, if not for these charred, bleached rancor.\n\nThe bang of each drumbeat, gongs of morrow ever so fleet.\n\nThe soundless nights and unending screams, the blight of a tainted potion once downed.\n\nHaunted endlessly by the bright letter upon my bossom, alas the baths do little to naught.\n\nIs it what life has become, a culminatino of your past, a black hole of your past mistakes?\n\nMistake me not, for I still do hope, the underlying belief notwithstanding.\n\nRetake me not, forsaken hope, the prying eyes of Volstagg.\n\nThe days and nights mold together untill they are but one, the same painful passage of space-time.\n\nAlcohol does naught but make the night come faster, blessed slumber of nothingness.\n\nFleeting afterimages of what could have been, what should have been.\n\nTomorrow shall be a new day, repeated series of events simply rearranged.\n\nUntil the day I tire of the repeated mantra, \"It'll all work out.\"\n\nThank you for reading! All comments and criticisms are welcome.\n\non which note I am kind of having trouble just writing down my feelings, which is what I believe poetry should be, and keeping to the \"format\" of poetry being certain symmetry, etc. If anyone has any advice, as I know poetry has a strict, yet loose, definition, i would highly welcome it :)\n\ncopyrighted to Ephemeral\\_Dreams\n\nplease do not post/share/copy without permission.\n\n  \n  \n\n"}