Annularity

At the ineluctable end of his penannular path, he glares into the blackened filth of the gap, now merely six feet deep; never satisfied, nor fulfilled, nor complete

Unrested grains of sand felled at the edge, presaged his harrowing horizon; he’ll close this opening, this rift, this gift, a final offering to the aedicula beckoning

Bound by obeisance to life’s sisyphean shackles, pushing regret and sorrow ahead of time, filling the once bottomless abyss with a bounty of abysmal alterity

A resting place after a restless journey; lying atop failure upon forfeit; decaying compost his only contribution; his body, a bridge, naturally spans into existential cyclicality

art: MF045 by Eric Lacombe

Vague

Hidden within his egoic forest, facing a barren laund, he struggles to recall the name of each wilted dream he sees through the rapidly forming mist

In his pocket, his left hand lets the last seeds of hope slip carelessly through deadened fingers, before ever having a chance to blossom; vague portents each of failures yet to flourish

By his side, his right hand hangs; a noose insouciantly strangling the posy of his most cherished memories; its thorns, poisoning the once fertile soil with each vermilion drop of unabashed sorrow

He wonders why his weakness wins, while he weeps his will away

Life has yet to make him stronger, so he waits for it to kill him