The sound of the crushing water
rang in her ears,
all her bitter thoughts
escaped into the fretter,
and all the noise, all the vines
disappeared into the mist.
A fog surrounded
to engulf all uniformity,
the sight,
the stare,
the spasm
and the lonely static choir.
There was only the presence
of that sad piece of light,
there was the knowledge
of surpassing her fright,
cause that is what she had
for the waters arising
from the depths of her thoughts,
of feelings that wasn’t milk or honey,
for the agenda she had
for her passive tragedy,
for the skin that spoke
of pain and mystery…
And only
the music of water
and the symphony of waves
was left.
She sat there
looking over the sparkles,
over the tiny droplets
that fell on her palm,
feeling the constricted concussions
roll down her cheeks.
She sat there,
watching over the flames of water
shining through the soothing sun,
calming her,
purifying her,
comforting her,
as she let go of anything
that had ever dragged her down
including herself.
And only
the music of water
and the symphony of waves
was left.
·love