Zywa Breakdown

The sweat in which I wake up with a start
after the waterspout, the howling guy wires
hitting my tissues, cutting them

the wind skidding through shreds of half sail
being at the end of my powers
which are strangled by my thoughts

the fleeing madness
in which I perished
my sobbing SOS

save my soul, darn the holes
I am tired, too tired to think
and too confused to be strong

too weak to hope, too afraid
to let go - I will go down
in the depth of the whirl, I

won't get off with a fright -
short of breath I scream
for grace

Poem 1524
Amsterdam, 2017-08-17

Psalm 130: "De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine" ("Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, o Lord")
Collection: Bruises 
Keyword: Fear: bad dream 
Keyword: Bible^ 
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