Glad You're Not Here

Yesterday, I geared up and found the cavern once again. I was alone as I maneuvered the depths where no sunlight dared to separate the murky water curtain. The pressure became unbearable. Yet, I persevered. Until the cavern open like a mouth of an angler fish. Inside, it was like wading in the ocean not far from shore. The water here is crystal and pure. And there my treasure lies. Sponges that look like coral. I’ve read about them many times in those old books you once gave while you thought you were dying, but it was a false alarm and you wanted the books back but I hid them, devouring every word of the ancients. As I cut the sponges they bled with a diamond and emerald blood, it shimmered like molten metal fresh from the kiln. And they screamed. Shrieked. Wailed. My ear drums and eyes began to drip blood. Yet, I preserved. Once I collected enough, I slowly started  to the surface. Their screams stopped. Now the real science will begin. In notes like this, I guess the right words are “I wish you were here.” But the truth is I don’t wish you were. I’m glad you’re not here. Truth is mine. Fame is mine. And you are just an old man rotting in the shadows.

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Hey all here is poem 28, I got back late last night and was tired as hell. Good news is I did get some writing done for Solitary Girl.  I followed the prompt for the day. It is one of my favorite styles of poetry- narrative poems. I really should write more of them. I try to write the drabbles but I have been losing my way. This is technically a post card poem. I think think it is both a poem and story.

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