Oxbow
From the gravity of this situation,
My crystalline streams flow abundantly.
Sometimes fast, sometimes slow, but always powerful,
They burst forth, gushing across the surface
Of a cold and jaded environment.
Before long, my weathered banks are eroded,
I lose small parts of who I used to be.
The streams that you have forced, oh Mother Earth,
Are slowly changing me, shaping me and
I will never be what I was before.
As I bend to your will you begin to
Deposit all of your dirt and your grime
Upon me – it builds – I have to get away.
Still, the pressure exerted is too much
As I have to retreat into myself.
Slowly, I manage to seal myself off.
Those crystalline streams no longer erode.
The rocks and stones you would throw can’t affect me,
The pressure is gone for once and for all.
But I still remain in isolation,
Unable to join the flow, the main stream.
My erosion’s past the point of no return
And I will never be myself again.
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Posted Oct 11, 2021, 12:38 PM UTC
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