Poetry

Descent

As the plane came in to land,
I believed I was descending into the very gates of hell;
The mountains circling the area jutting like a devil’s jaw
Waiting to swallow us whole.

Ripping holes in the sky
Clouds bleeding an unnatural red as the sun set.

In the hotel I turn off the light
And lie in the humid darkness
Listening to the storm raging outside.

The devils are hungry now:
Their stomachs yelling angrily,
Their eyes flashing bright across the blackness
As they hunt for their prey.

And the sky cries heavy rains of grief
For its wounded victims.

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