(Poem 292 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

There is a cave
in the land of lost time
where forgotten dreams die.

If one ventures near
the mouth of the cave
a sense of apathy
and despair descends.
If someone musters
the courage to enter,
they’ll be greeted by a cold
chill and a sense
that someone is watching
from the darkest recesses.

Are those outlines of skulls
tucked along the edges
of the cave floor?
And what are the veins
of liquid seeping
from cracks in the walls?
The mind will see the worst
when fear begins to creep
deep into the suffering soul,
for no one is drawn
into the cave unless
they are overcome by pain.

Though time does not exist
inside the cavernous vault,
it can feel like decades
spent wandering through
corridors of damp labyrinthian
passageways and tunnels.
Each bend and fissure
holds new anticipation
of terror, certain death
by sinkhole, falling
into an abyss, never
to be found.
Cries of dread echo
from the underworld,
but nothing materializes.
In the eerie gloom,
hope is obscured,
a claustrophobic panic
envelopes the heart
of even the most intrepid.

And then one day,
after struggling through
a crawlway, the visitor
is faced with a sump.
The only way out is through,
but submerging the self
requires a strength of will
nearly impossible to imagine.
If the lost one dissolves
their doubt and dives,
they will emerge
into a glorious chamber,
a sanctuary of sparkling
stalactites and stalagmites,
and brilliant light
streaming in from an opening.

The confused explorer
begins the remembering
of the world they forgot
and climbs the limestone
ledges until surfacing,
stunned and blinking
at the blinding sky.

Unsure how or when,
they realize that all fear
dissipated somewhere
along the way, or perhaps
it was collected by the cave.

@Home Studio – 292^nd poem of the year