Pat Aitcheson writes, poetry

Slipped my moorings

image: manolofranco via pixabay


Water whispers, wild and wet

Surrounds securely, stifling

Light, leaching away laughter

Bearing down brittle bones.

Waving, wavering

Tears for trying, taste

Of salt, softly screaming.


Deep down, despair

Easing each exhale.

Gasp grab grasping

Futile fingers fumble

Slippery skin shivers

Leaden legs leach

Marrow into murmuring mists.


Insistent inky idyll

Silence speaks no safety.

Blinded, bound, bereft

I sink, surrendered.


Each bubble bears my breath.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.