Swelter

Swelter

 

The storied sailor may be right,

and Hell is a cold, icy ocean trench

that saps your will and chokes your heart;

I wouldn’t pretend to know.

 

Despair, though –

Despair is hot.

 

The heat of an over-burdened body

The heat of all the rage and impotence

clutched close and tight.

The heat of a breath held too long,

after the swirling eye-spots

have blotted out vision

and the lungs shudder to bursting.

The heat of a fatal fever-

too extreme to heal,

too strong to dissipate.

 

Despair has the heat of friction,

born of all the wasted efforts

and the rued missed chances,

and the stupid, wanton mistakes.

 

The heat smothers,

blanketing you with its weight.

It surrounds you even while

it comes from inside,

till the tears start from your bloodshot eyes and

moans, undirected, start from your parched throat.

Yes, Hell might be cold,

but Despair,

Despair is hot.

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Posted on November 3, 2015, in Pink Poesy and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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