The World Is Quiet Here.

The dark bitter nectar
Stings with an acid bite,
Singes tissue on its familiar path.
Leads me to a darker depth
Of shadow in a harsher shade.
Sits me on this damp moor,
Overcast, overhanging fiendish woe
Burdens the harsh anger of these jagged hills,
In this land of greens, yellows, purples.
Spiralling winds draw colour from fractured land.
I am an intruder here.
Unwanted in my own creation,
Stricken from my own coarse reality.
As hills embrace water, hold lake in the centre.
Cold lake in the centre.
And I sit here all the while
Staring into that dark abyss,
That baptismal font
Of fear and bliss,
Longing for some mermaid
In my minds dark recess
To drag me down
Into those unfathomable depths.