Rivers

I thought of such grief, living den to soul, and soul to den.

I never understood, somewhat captured, stressing in

silence. Phantoms flaunted riches, ever too far; and love

flaunted safety, ever too near. Something in me, a touch

of purity; and something in me, a vest of darkness.

“What’s this cloud?” I wasn’t certain, a pageant of

whispers, ghosts, and secrets. Mother was silent, bells

were ringing, life was a mystery. I fell from grace, and

grace received me. Night was suspicious, but I kept at it:

walking shadows, shaving thorns, drilling at welts and

wounds. So many crossed a path; and so many sore to

clash. Days to years, and years to decades: How would we

know? young and deceived, old and typing. In truth, we

become what we munch upon, plaguing psyches and shattered

mirrors. But we come to You: knees scraped, hair matted,

combing through trials and tribulations. Such mercy, semi-

cursed, running up rivers.