Deprived of light, I live in a merlot haze…
Each week The Sunday Whirl invites writers to write a poem or short prose using some or all of the “wordle’s” 12 words. This week it is:
I live in an aphotic cave.
A merlot haze
like a rank velvet cape covers me.
I am a chained and fading protagonist wanting to rise
once more against an outer world.
I am deranged. Indicted.
Charging in a feigning darkness
what you declare to be a systematic light.
How I wish to strike at the
cold brusque strains of inequity.
So, yes, I traipse the twilight.
I filet dreams.
I exchange pecuniary wishes:
for green visions of guileless meadows,
unfettered flames holding in the distance;
for sustained reprieves from corporate wantonness.