The Panic Attack
The swarm, like twisting clouds prevailed,
and air displaced in brown dismissal,
gulping, desperate flailing panic,
breathless fading life abysmal,
as sight now blurred delivered truth,
and mind so stretched of use,
as skin like prickled cactus felt,
the pain of a million deaths,
yet here and dark still standing,
what agony is this swarm been dealt.
In waves the swarm does reach its zenith,
shrill cries resounding in silent stealth,
and body scraped of nerve and flesh,
bone now aching in shrinking yelp,
pounded flat of heart and soul,
under pressure the death knell tolls,
yet here still standing, told,
that burdens vast can in aftermath leave,
scars so deep there’s no release,
until eyes close in perfect silent sleep.
As the swarm rescinds in silence,
and the pain ebbs so gently,
a quivering heap of flesh and bone,
stricken under the weight of plenty,
and thoughts now shallow, barely there,
peruse the battlefield, the blood and tainted air;
there is a sadness, a deeply profound care
that this war wages within,
an aberrant sin of human ilk,
a silken thread that is terrifyingly thin.
Tony DeLorger © 2017
Philosophical Poetry release: Amazon link
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Such a dreadful scenario of a swarm of battles, war waging within. Very powerful phrasing, Tony, and well done.
Glad you appreciated it Phyllis. Cheers!