The WDC Review

I fell into a poem
quite by accident.
There I was
surrounded by images not of my making
but of another's vision.
I lost my way
floundering in metaphorical morasses,
clinging to shreds of dangling participles
and sinking.
An image flickered by,
inconsequential, but nonetheless
I grasped at it;
reaching with bloodied fingers.
Slowly, dragging myself from the verbiage
'til, finally
I lay,
bleeding slime and simile on the shore.
The minutely described earth beneath me shook,
words avalanched down from some undiscovered cliff
and my heart pounded in rhythm to cadence and footstep.
Deep voice reverberated, shocking heart to silence.
Echoed by a smaller cry of confusion,
a voice hampered by delusion and lacking in confidence.
I crawl, leaving a trail of fractured phrases behind,
as ahead, blinking
a beacon to sanity--
I see my monitor from a side I never expected:
view myself imersed within,
yet cannot catch my mind's eye
to pull me out.
My outer self is too busy typing a review-
praises fall from brick red skies,
and I lie
on razor edged grasses
watching my monitor grow dark,
trapping me
within.
In the ensueing darkness
five new stars glow on the horizon.