Understream
Amongst the amber grass of the marsh
Drifts a slow, sullen, stagnate inlet
Past dead overhanging oaks-gazing harsh,
Apathetically, upon nothing—
Whilst the rain falls on grey plain’s rivulet
And on the surface showers set.
Rain gently falling on both marsh and creek-
Dripping, rippling, circling—as water blurs.
Drizzles that drench all, neither strong nor weak,
Constantly dropping, dripping in the wind
That through the watery sky fades, obscures
The understream of life’s ewer.
Beneath the calm surface fogged with murk
Lies a thick dull green full of muddy sand
Where the lost hopes of forgotten things lurk
In glazed currents that do not reflect
But devour the light concealed from land,
Like a vast, all-consuming hand.
The river waits for the tide unmoving
A tryst trail of time traveling nowhere
A vague dim mirror its path unseeing,
Through which shadows look away distantly,
Self-occupied, self-interested, aware
Of nothing save the sorrow there.