Climb from the Catacombs

My cold and mottled hand
thrusts forward through the dark,              

the air as thick as sand,                   

its tendrils cut deep marks. 

The time seems endless here,

perhaps it’s just begun,

no longer will I fear,

my hesitance undone.

One hand, now raise the next,

my feet will scrabble too,

in shock, my limbs perplexed,

shadow echoes, voices coo.

Do I see light above?

or glimmer of lost years,

my eyes so long been gloved,

most often sealed in tears.

The ledge gives up the game,

I heave, and from it rise,

the darkness stays the same,

no light? it's a surprise.

I crawl up from gnarled crust,

pocked blemishes and fire,

The Earth's pale face has rusted,

see children in her pyre.

This world of mine has since

been blackened, lost in time.

Knowledge just a pittance in this world's solemn beat

our voices naught but rhythmic pulses; unsteady, incomplete.