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Comments about Current NinetyThree
What is this?
I think as I awake
thrust from a most gentle state
into what I can only presume
to be some sort of abject tomb.
Made of ice, encased in stone
pressed with ice that chills my bones.
And as I curse this foreign land
I feel its weight, my bending hands.
And release it now that grim eyes see
I have room to move, almost placidly.
But wait! I think, short for breath,
It descends again- I’m compressed by death!
And so this cycle carries on,
Through lonely nights and cruel ‘morns,
until feebly resolving- I
will end either here or in ...