I Stood Upon a Clearing

I stood upon a clearing, a towering slab of earth:

the world below me dancing, swirling in its mirth.

I saw the sky then darken, and the rain began to fall,

And I wondered if anything meant anything at all.

I felt my pulse accelerate, my brow grew damp with fears

as I watched the clouds above me grow heavy with their tears.

And I heard the thunder clap with wrath as the lightshow started on,

all the while the wind picked up in the morning light of dawn.

Those drops of liquid fell down fast with heavy, forceful blows

and filled up quick with water black down in the rutty lows.

This inky ichor, black as sin, moved its way along,

rising slowly up to me, sticky, vile, and wrong.

And as this aggregate of drops roiled with fervorus rage,

I felt it reach the clearing then, covering the stage.

The stage I stood upon at first, looking at the green,

which now was naught but memory, blackened and obscene.

Its viscid, tacky, angry mass devoured whole my feet,

moving swiftly up my legs, igneous with heat.

The pain rushed through my veins with ire; I screamed aloud in fright

and knew right then that no one there could help me with my plight.

As it moved above my chest my mouth began to shout,

but my throat was dry and lungs collapsed so that no words came out.

Finally I saw a glow through the cracking sky,

the dawn's first light and my last sight as I said my last goodbye.

Before I woke I felt a sense of all-consuming peace,

and I let my worries slip away as I allowed my life to cease.