The Catch
The sun, hidden behind fluffs of clouds;
the lake, as calm as can be.
Smooth as glass. An eerie
stillness.
What mysteries, what secrets,
lie beneath its murky black surface?
A boy fishes from the dock, barefoot.
Throws his line into the blackness, casting ripples
across the lake. Patiently he waits,
thirsting for the catch.
Soon, movement beneath the water. A tug on his hook.
The boy stands, reeling in his catch.
A tug of war--man versus nature;
a short struggle--predator versus prey;
balance is lost--grace versus gravity;
limbs flailing--gravity the victor--
A splash disturbs the stillness.
The water closes over the boy's head
like a liquid casket.
Who is the catch now?
The blackness seems to darken further.
Bubbles break the surface: the boy is screaming
but no sound is heard.
There are no more bubbles,
no more ripples.
All is still.
Quiet.
Calm.
The sun gleams through fluffy clouds;
the lake as calm as can be.
Smooth as glass. An eerie
stillness.
What mysteries, what secrets,
lie beneath its murky black surface?
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
The Catch, which
was posted on Feb 7, 2011 by
S.A.Martz.
This is a solo poem.
Some rights reserved.
This poem is filed under:
Just for Fun
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