Prose Poetry: Ancient

A gray wind gusts and my spirit bones are sent down, down, spiraling down. There is a thick fog here, and though there is a light in the distance the mist filters it so that it is barely anything, barely a whisper in the darkness. I am enveloped in something dangerous. It is far more ancient than this caliginosity, and it is true down to the very fibers of the oldest blood spilled here, the first blood. The only blood. It will cocoon me tightly in this haze and suffocate me, leech the life from my skin. I will be nothing but ash. And as terrifying as the prospect is, as paralyzed as I am at the idea that my life will sink into this marshy, lightless earth, I am relieved to the point of breathlessness. This vapor is older than the stones. The light dims. The light dims, and I am ancient too.

5 Responses to “Prose Poetry: Ancient”
  1. Beautiful!! I love it.

  2. S Jayanth says:

    this is a beauty. the imagery you’ve set feel real. without the images you put there, this poem still would have painted it for me. i am glad i read this. refreshing…… and ancient-fying? 😉 🙂

    two words, and their contexts caught me as i used them in my last two poems almost under the same theme. ‘whisper’ and ‘ash’..

    with tears, but without fear

    to be star up there

  3. Dave says:

    Loved this, Hannah. Even without pictures, your words would have conjured up the perfect vision to suit this piece. Would love to know the inspiration for it.

    Know you’re busy, but I’ve missed your writing.

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