Cruel River

This river runs cruel…

This river runs cold.

I know she’s lost in this wilderness, where the lakes are silent, dampened by snow.

Here, she walks on the edge of everything.

 

This river will meet the sea, that’s where all lies cease, for the moon has a crease.

And on the riverbank, all the leaves have fallen low.

No telling what they’ve seen.

 

I feel her body, right below the river’s current.

I think I can catch her, bring her back up, if only to the darkest of sunshine.

All light’s in a freeze.

 

My fingers slide on her skin. She slips through my grasp.

I look downstream to see if I can catch a glimpse of her.

But all is numbed by a ceaseless rain.

She’s not coming back no more.

She won’t come back no more.

 

 

(click on image to enlarge)

 

 

14 Comments on “Cruel River

  1. The poem and the picture fit together so wonderfully. Thanks for this lovely and a little eerie post.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Living around flooding rivers, I first focused on the horror of how water obliterates the edges of what once was. Then, I noticed the fear and loneliness of what might have been. Beautiful.

    Liked by 2 people

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