The force of the blow
shakes the water.
Ripples become waves
and waves become monsters.
Climbing higher and higher,
they obscure the Sun
and rain down fire upon us,
a tragic symphony.
With words
that were wild then,
we explained the darkness.
We woke to each other
in a tepid fever.
The road was quiet
and our mouths were timid,
too lake to actuate
our missions now,
we call down rain.
Even the deluge is
better than the fire.
The landscape breathes
and the Earth tires.
Wishing to sleep
in a boundless sea;
we are transient,
souls departed.
Hitching a ride
to the next best thing.
HG – 2019
