by John Delonas

I thought I was
Clinging to a cliff,
When the light showed
That all these years
I have been plummeting
Through a wall-less void,
Only the devastating
Bottom is visible:
To see the end against which
One is to be smashed,
While unaware of the course;
Running exhaustedly,
Blindly to a spot
At the end of a tunnel;
The cold tit of death
Is the prize
For those who will
Keep abreast
Of the sightless pace,
Struggling for the cheers
Of a mob