by Theresa Lovelace
It surrounds me
Its lifeless form embraces me,
Visions of being consumed
By its insatiable appetite,
Haunt me.
A menacing appearance,
It fills me with mysterious wonder on the inside
On the outside
A cold foreboding.
It beckons me
With sounds of calming resolve
And tantalizes me
With cries of innocent revelry.
Yet, I wait
With apprehension, I wait
Visions of being consumed
And its insatiable appetite,
A oneness, yet separate,
A restless peacefulness,
Unsettling.
It beckons me
And I hesitate.
I hesitate with uncertainty
And remain haunted
