That Sundered Place

I stepped through and
all the world was black,
distorted jeering voices and
all the charred green smoked,
stank.  The clouds dull, dead
things that unmoving hung
over the spoil like a vulture
joy waiting patiently to fill.

I was ill, killed, all the
self split away sharded and I
cried, cried, cried, rejected
from the place I saw, to
find in my real hands and
skin I clutched dead things
and in Eden found only
nothing light and nothing living.
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