Marsh
by Stormcat
I learned as a child not to cry . . .
"men don't cry"
Nearly half a century of tears remained locked
inside.
A dike-blocked sea raging against all those
lowlands
(a desert ripe for assassination)
Breach releases a flood of unrequited grief
and pain
A salty flood . . . to poison already lifeless
expanse?
Stench of endless brackish sludge over-washing
barren fields of stagnant dreams
Lost are my brothers that balance. Strength of
earth,
fluidity of Intelligence, airiness of
Friendship, fire of
Poetry. Lost in the ash of anguish, weight of
loneliness,
dogmatic rigidity, weak apathy!
Yet once stillness sets, the stench motivates.
The floods that destroy become the
floods that feed,
stagnation nourishes the recapitulation of
evolution,
peaceful, beautiful, teeming life . . .
brothers formed anew . . .
A tearwater marsh is born!
