Stagnant water is all I have become.
A surface lost to my reflection.
What lies beneath that mirrored surface?
That dusky dusty unmoving water?
Do I dare ripple the pond, stir the seabed, release the river?
I must, I must, or I shall eventually dry and die; ascend I say, and fill anew.
My words make no sense, a jumble of rhyme and smudged ink.
Flowers heavy laden with dew.
Disturb the glass surface of my mind.
Treat my thought as clouds, lose my light to rain and time.
I'm tired- only tired will not explain my formless shape in the sand.
Exhaustion can only draw in breath for words that will whimper when released.
Help me I cry, never in an order that is new, never in a way that is understood
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