The Garden Maze

I gasp.

Standing before the yawning gap

that is the entrance to the garden maze. 

Cold sweat on my palms and brow.

Heart pounding in my chest, 

like mallets against a timpani drum.

I freeze in utter revulsion at my

inability to enter.  

I shudder.

Seven-foot-high walls of an unforgiving 

and unrelenting foliage challenge me.

My world swoons at the stomach wrenching

vertigo that overwhelms me.

My feet are lead as I stand like a statue

before the threshold of the abyss.  

I wail.

Ashamed, at my frailness, dare I say

cowardice, as I face indecision. 

The vile taste of vomitus fills my throat

burning, and bringing tears to my eyes. 

A deafening roar fills my head, as terror 

sinks its razor sharp talons into my soul. 

I flee.

-Ken Ferguson--

Artista di Parole