Warm wind whispers,
through dark cavernous crack,
footsteps muffled in dirt,
bearing the load of backpack.
A hunter of the fissures,
so cool dark and wet,
deep in the bowels of Earth,
a place one might regret.
lamps shine bright,
waver in the form of walk,
silence fills the air,
for safety we don’t talk.
Shrill echo cries in the dark,
of the beast that we seek,
this is no place for the weary,
and not likely for the meek.
Lost souls may survive,
but more like beast than man,
we shall bring it all to light,
capture poor wanderer if we can.
Author notes
Falling through the cracks of life can be an endless abyss.
A contest entry
- The Fantasy Element by ArchOblivion.
600 points, ended September 7, 2008, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
A very fantastical and dark piece. I like how its as if we are following the wanderer. Thanks for your entry and good luck.
-
Wonderful
So very well done. A great creation for the prompt. Best of luck in the contest.
-
i'd love to hear this to music, it seems like it'd flow very well. the last stanza is very powerful. great work. peace
-
Outstanding use of metaphor...
Your work is really blossoming, Karl. The beasts within the bowels of the earth don't stand a chance. All the best of luck to you and the "Wanderer" in this contest!!! Peace, Cyn 
Adding your comment:
