My hazy head slumps down by the river of forgetfulness as
it mumbles of the shadowed land which waits for no one.
Paralyzed eyes lead listless limbs towards the winged
zealot who shall transport me to the realm of oblivion, yet
I do not fight the persuasive hands that grab at me for
this daunting day has already slithered into history’s
grip; the poppies pull is far too powerful.

At your cave I stand.