A wakedness is bleeding in,
The weight of which crushes,
Down into the earth,
Pressed into a reluctant slumber.

But there around the fringes,
Though this  boulder sits heavy,
Light bleeds in,
Hinting freedom exists yet.

The days race by,
Choice turns to prison,
A river runs dry,
Dread and distant.

The reaver of yellow,
Stalks part from grain easy,
A sickling blade bleeds hollow,
Rash and ragged, hurried heresy.

*** Header image by Benjamin Zanatta on Unsplash. 

Hey guys, we’re looking for more short stories, poems and essays. If you’ve got some and aren’t shy to share it with the world, please drop us an email at editors@eksentrika.com. Oh, do read our Submission Guidelines first. Here’s another poem you might enjoy. 

POETRY | Moon by Charles Chiam

Hey guys, this was an amazing read! I want more content such as this in my inbox.


Dan