Ava Wahl

Today, you learn that stable ground

Is not certain,

That beneath every step lingers the risk of collapse

A potential crumbling, cracks in a foundation spilling forth dust and

Soot, funneling downwards and taking you with it.

This hole opens itself,

A swallowing suffocation you were always made to be.

Staring into its shadowy depths, in which echo the remaining

Whispers of an old friend,

You recall the true nature of Life and its

Fleetness.

With shaky steps you waddle like a toddler,

Death chasing closely behind with open arms,

In search of his bedtime hug.

Yet you never expected to find someone so close

Caught in his embrace.

The globe of sun feels too distant,

Too alien and strange.

Soon enough, this hole is all you know,

For you no

Longer understand what it means to gather light in your grasp.

The sun smiles at you, a cruel, wide-mouthed grin,

A smirk sent down from somewhere above

Reminding you that God has let you down,

if you still believe in him.

It’s hard to, after something like this.