Nostalgia burns a fever
In the caustic river’s
eye
Tidal boundaries shatter, flooding shores,
forcing debris to swim, well before it's learnt to drift
Ill-equipped thoughts addle. Matted wings resign to weight.
Flailing, it all feels like flailing….
The crows nest
dangles. It's broken pole slivers.
Remnants linger upon distressful seas.
Venial thoughts are left
to stew. Eventually weariness ripens.
The polished and hewn wilts alike.
Overwrought. Ambushed. Daylight is truncated. Evening falls to Stygian design….to those daring enough to dream.
Danger paints a
dragnet from your plaster. Hunger feeds the gluttonous rill. Currents, replete with paroxysms, commiserate.
Tragedies offer casualties alone. In such moments, mankind as a unity is shattered. All we have is grief and mourning.
And a river born from sorrow.
Addendum:
If you believe the vortices will calm their vehement swirl, I pray the shoreline shackle heel to sand.
If you believe absolution will quickly cast it's net, I fear that catch shall never breathe again beyond it's gnarled mesh.
If you fear that time will not heal such lacerations, I pray support is ever by your side.
