The Tunneler

I can’t escape its screeching cries,
Its siren serpents scorching eyes.
It draws me deep into the neath,
Below the wretches of the heath.

Abducted from the cool fresh air,
By a Sissyphean stair
Whose relentless rapen churning crime
Vaults me within the Morden line.

Out of mind and out of sight
The permeating tunnelled light
Filters through the murky must,
And dimly veils the tunnels rust.

And there, lingering in the darkened eaves,
Hang lost echoes of screaming metal wheels
And a muffled Panzers’ roar
That bore these sounds not long before.

This tomb of filth all clad in tile,
And urinal brick in Victorian style
Is worthy of its vile contempt
Of human vermin excrement.

The death inside the eisen gleiss
By insidious device, entice
Me towards the playful patter of the mice,
Drenched in oil and infesting lice

Then Doldrums drummed into a windy rage,
As a discarded paper lifts its page,
Like a tug on seaweed by the tide.
Subterraneans run and hide.

I can almost feel it in my skin,
The drawing demon deep within.
Incapacitated fear saturates my calm veneer.
I know it must be near…

Though nothing yet…

All’s still, still…

And whilst my bounding beat abates,
The tunneler silently stalks and waits.

Dr Tor Ercleve LITFL

Emergency physician and medical illustrator with no functioning smartphone or understanding of Twittles, Bookface or Instagran - greatly restricting his ability to do anything useful | @ercleve | LinkedIn |

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