The Winding Line – A Poem

In the catacombs they line up
round the bends and down they wind up
holding loads to build their shrine up
arms bogged down, they climb the vine up

In the catacombs we see them
We call out and hope to free them
They are rooted like a tree stem
In the darkness they bury them

Up and down the line they wait there
All the while say that they hate there
But they’ll never leave or abate their
Winding line they’ve burrowed straight there

It’s a trick, I try to whisper
Finding one, I pull and twist her
Her native tongue comes, I resist her
Only I cannot assist her

I am plagued by their long line there
The way they’ve all consigned there
As though they are resigned there
And even themselves define there

And I know that while they wade in
Winding lines of death cascading
Their dark and dank parade in
Is a meaningless crusade in

I want to take them, shake them, break them
Til the sleep leaves, I’ll awake them
The winding line curls round to snake them
They’re duped, the catacombs have faked them

Then I see how much they love it
They deny, but won’t free of it
So I climb til I’m above it
See the sun, I walk out of it

In those catacombs they stay there
Build their shrine with trash and pray there
Loaded down, they’ll wind their way there
Til the last one will decay there


5 responses to “The Winding Line – A Poem

  1. The cadence of this reminds me of …..It’s Friday, but Sunday is coming. I can just hear him reciting this in that bass voice of his.
    These two are so different in form and cadence from the rest I’ve read.

  2. Pingback: How I Write My Poems | christywrites

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