Seer Garth - Mud

Blood is churning ever slow,
My impotent moan is growing tall.
Yet, lights and sound are deeply vibrant
In the clear mist of London air;
I would say I'm blessed with life
If not the heavy ball of mud inside
That grew from spores of this dirty light.

Insane, death is weaved throughout.
Must I fade inside and out?

Seer Garth

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mud-6/