Walk inside,
knees wet,
glasses fogged,
lightly speckled,
with powdery tears.
The water comes
in waves,
in bursts,
in gushes.
Alone.
The water's been gone,
dry, arid,
a desert of a person,
the water's been gone.
It gushes now,
and lingers on sideways pines,
rushing down valleys,
trickling over cliff.
Alone.
It rests on rock,
chest of the world.
Resides,
in pools of sorrow.
Alone.
Water fuels the thirsty,
fuels the lonely.
It dries up,
soaking into
the desert's sands.
Your voice is in the water.
The desert becomes the marshland.
Your blood is in the water.
The marsh becomes an sea.
A sea stands alone,
swallowing the world.
A sea stands alone,
tickling the skin,
of this weary world.
Alone.
- also mine
I really like the form of this poem - the way the word "alone" literally stands alone is especially poignant, nice and subtle too... also liked the transformation of desert to marsh to sea. But did you mean "glasses" in the first stanza?
ReplyDeleteHaha, yes; I meant glasses. Nice catch, thanks.
ReplyDeleteOh cool. It took me a couple of times of reading it to understand the imagery of the desert becoming the marshland...I would imagine that this poem has religious undertones. I still don't understand why it goes back and forth from dry to wet so quickly. But I liked that stanza with the desert becoming the marshland etc.
ReplyDelete