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

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