The Crackwalker

A narrow crack split's life's short trip,
claims tortured souls, their spirits' slip.
On one side lies true peace and sanity,
t'other side creates life's c'lamity.

With cautious step she walks the crack,
'tween reason's sane and reason's lack.
Grotesque shapes dance large and fierce,
her fragile mind their shrieks do pierce.

An upward glance shows columns high,
below the shadows therein sigh.
They told her truths she thought were dreams,
the horrors old, the pain, the screams.

The wretched thoughts abound, delight
take flight and fancy throughout the night.
The mornings sun chases ghosts to bed,
they don't go far, they're in her head.

Now heavy heart and shattered mind,
naught but hurts and things unkind.
On bended knee she reviews the deep,
And craves the peace of death's long sleep.

Awakened by a stark white force,
she finds she's still in life's cruel course.
The goddess in her maddly laughs,
"I am the Crackwalker. My future's cast."

AUTHOR: Trish Poce - The Crackwalker - © 1996