Purgatory

Waking up in this place.

 Standing. Crowded,

pushing and shoving.

Screaming. Darkness. Confusion.

Flesh is forceful behind

but nothing in comparison to

the force of the concrete wall pushing back.

Coming in it was wider

but everything has narrowed now.

There is nowhere to go.

Coming to this place because

there was no option in another.
A lack of freedom for what was thought

to be security here:

here in this tunnel

 that has no way to move forward

and no possibility of going back.

So many of the people surrounding are children,

 they should not be here.

The rest of the others are seemingly

on their way out but it still feels wrong:

the elderly and the injured.

The floor is rising up and moving around.

It is very cold and comes

forcing in a way the flesh and the wall

could not have prepared for.

Every few minutes this place

fills with water completely

and almost to the top.

Where is it coming from

and how to make it stop are not questions

 that can be indulged upon.

Grabbing onto these sharp grates

towards the top of the hard wall

is the only option,

just trying to hold on.

Without hope. 

1, 2, 3, 12

1, 2, 3, 12...
a mechanical device
for measuring time
an electrical device
for measuring time
indicating hours
minutes, seconds
typically by hands
on a round dial

against the clock
with the clock
time still counts

counts down moments
the increasing of time
the indefinite continued
progress of existence
and events
past, present, future

reckoning of time
time allotted
appropriate time
an instance of something happening
the clock talks loud of time
today, tomorrow, yesterday

Don't be afraid of the clocks he has said
they are our time
time has been so generous to us
He said we imprinted time with the sweet taste of victory
We conquered time by meeting at a certain time and in a certain space
We are a product of the time
Therefore, we gave back credit where it is due: Time
We are synchronized

datada poem....

Moaning Doves

shoes in a dryer

silk in a blender

a can opening

your god singing

pop of a toaster

heals on a hard wood floor

dice falling

start of an siren

water boiling

the orchestra plays

keys searching

the rustling of sheets

You do remember the sounds,

for I can hear them in your voice