Nervestorm pt2 of 2 – a poem series


When the pouring tides have shrunk

From foaming cataracts to tiny storms,

The roar dulled, stemmed to a minor flow,

Branches now representative of truth.


Pulse, bright, sick sun flaring at

Miniature ends, epicentre and receiver

All very far away, sensation everywhere

Receptive scattershot sprayed.


Realisation of our inadequacies as beings

Of humanity weighs heavy, the epic crush

Like unto the aeons all facing down,

Combined pressure gravitic lancing, points

Per square inch, pixelised, loaded, fully

Formed and divided.


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