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R. Steven Reynolds

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Member Since: Jul, 2003

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Waking
by R. Steven Reynolds

Sunday, July 27, 2003

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Recent poems by R. Steven Reynolds
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           >> View all 95

I sit up suddenly in a blackened room
The cloying smell of decaying mud
the heavy humid air, still like a tomb
on my tongue the coppery taste of blood


My clothes-sopping wet from cold sweat
I look trying to see through the black
trying to locate the nature of the threat
my muscles coiled and ready to attack


I examine the room as my eyes adjust
I see the familiar surroundings of home
and the past horrors that Iíd witnessed
Bursting forth from memoryís catacomb


My heart still wildly racing from the fear
Itís beating sounds like a mortar barrage
No threat is present I sense itís all clear
But still wishing I had better camouflage


 Images of the past, still vivid and alive
Memories of so many people now dead
Trip wires Iíd installed so Iíd survive
Triggering the booby traps in my head

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