Hopelessness

World shrunk
to the dimensions of
a burnt out bulb
Electricity arcing pointless
'round my feet like
a fog that fails to
illuminate.

The compass dances
a jig in my hand while
dense canopies of
malevolent foliage block
the stars; else I'd navigate
to clearer space.

Though clear
space is what I have
here,
in the cellar of my mind.
Hunkered in the corner, draped
in demons whose wings
fill the air with the din
of the dying.

Long used
to endings but
attempting motion I
find the road lengthy, wending it's
way, a veritable Styx for
the soul.

It will be a long
way home.