Water Falls

Neither light nor day can surpass

This tempesting storm,

All eyes succumb to the rain,

All heart has fled into the cerulean soul,

And solely it is the mind

That rains and fumes in turmoil,

Its own black and blue

A decadent sky of cursed memories,

Sentiments turned to acid,

Pouring down, more vile than that

Spitting tongue.

Yet one storm has not the power

Of the tumultuous seasons

To tear apart a land, to leave

A soulless piece floating

Amongst the repaired flood.

Instead, the oppressing heat

And blinding cold capture twice

The world as it was, hold that place

Ransomed to hurricanes and

Immortal volcanoes;

No apophatic approach to rupture

The very base of this earthly fair.

The brewing incident of chance

Reflects in the mirror-like pools

That glaze and unglaze gradually as winter,

With its beating defences, storms

Upon the frozen body on the ground,

Causing hearts to chill and crack

Along original lines, man-made.

Cracks. The body taut and flees,

Broken, leaves the soul to well up;

Even when absorbing springs thaws

The masses, only then the water flows.

Discontentment encourages

Pitiful pattering, blurred panes

Of sight, the windows washed

With a wave of self-incoherence.

One lake below the chin-point

Of the hill that has fallen,

Settled from two waterfalls,

Hot and crystallised precious with salt,

The pinnacle of the ball of distress.

Drunk, by too much of the weather,

Lies a body beached on the rocks,

Again in solitude,

A single raindrop of the cheek

Sweeter now,

A fallen mist the better stupor.

The End

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