Dark Water’s Game (The Flood)

I still hear the sound of its silent march
reaching and rising, that dark waters game.
Drowned the dreaming, it, always shall parch
my sore hearted throat, all morrows the same.
Tide into tide and into tide rolled darkness
until of what remained I could draw only death,
floating in my hours, in my gaze thoughtless
soulless those vessels of life sans breath.
There shall not ever, from that lifelessness
come to remembrance pasts visage untainted
nor shall emerge, from that endlessness
a hope which to hope may be acquainted.
Yet I do not mourn the many fields now lost
nor the memories reddened by the river of mud
not even my ones kindred or their life it cost
but the fact that I remained to witness the flood.

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7 thoughts on “Dark Water’s Game (The Flood)

  1. This reminds me of my love-hate relationship with the rain.
    I’ve always loved the rain but not until our family moved to a flood-prone area and experienced “water in all its angst”.
    Still, I dream of days when I would love hearing the sound of rain drops again: sipping hot chocolate and observing the hushed city from my window.
    I’ve been dreaming of such rainy days so strongly that I even wrote a piece about it sometime this year: Because There Must be Hot Chocolate in My Mug Again

    I love how your poems remind us of ourselves/our stories.
    I guess that’s what poems are made for. 🙂

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