The Reincarnation Of The Scorpion

By Claire A Jacobs

I awoke into a morbid dream

A shadow realm of neither form nor scheme

A subdued mirage without shimmer or gleam

A foul abomination

In this nightmarish realm of dread

Weary souls are tapped and bled

Demons feed, Spoil and spread

Like dengue in the hearts of men

This was surely a prison for the mind

Perhaps even beyond even gods reach

A place where dark kings rule and black priests preach

And life itself has been impeached

I writhed and recoiled in primordial plasma

Managing a precise thought in my horror

“Is there not some chaperone

To guide me through this hell unknown

Some charitable entity

To which I could bond eternally”