Deadly Pursuit

Crippled fingers reach
Like twisted, knotted branches,
Pawing at the earth
In intermittent frenzies,
Pausing to listen to the dark, 

The urgency is tangible,
The interruptions
Almost deafening; 

Eyes strain, intently focused
On the nothingness
That shrouds this quagmire
In the shadow
Of ever-aging trees. 

The scent of sulphur
Mingled with rotting leaves
Permeates the night, 

The search continues,
Scavenging for treasures in the dirt
Each discovery inspected;
Thrust within a tattered pouch,
Or cast aside, unwanted, 

A muttered chant
Reverberates in silence
Like drum beats in the distance, 

A recipe repeated,
No part to be forgotten,
No sickly, rotting thing can be left out
Each element essential
To the mix 

The taste will charm the senses
But the bite will chill the soul
From the first sip of this brew! 



Janet Reid
october 2008




  
Awarded by Poetic Constellations