Punched in plexus of the sun,
No wind in these sails inside me,
Wooden hull dashed against
heartless rocks,
No battle left, no where to run.

So I lie here.

So I lay down.

If, when I again raise my head,
Expression of pain,
Will it be judged by dread,
See me fetal, futile, trying
to  grasp the emptiness
that was
My next breath.

Black falling, as I fade,
who will take my place!
I will be replaced
I will be...
I will...

I will just start over
further behind with
further to go,

No kicking, I am still down.


©ClemC072013