Implosion

Of swirling clouds
as thick as swirling vomit.
Nausea poisons clarity and manners,
Rendering the soul gutted like
dead flowers by a tomb.

Of the sun and moon well
in motion in time,
so is the ropes giving way
to this strain of pain;
pain in mind, bearing it's
fruit to the body,
All this, you are given one option,
to keep marching well in silence,
Even when the whole ground
below you falls in one deep dark hole.