DroughtWe stood on a rock in the middle of what
I remembered was a raging torrent. There'd
Been a drought. It was barely a stream.
Metaphors build. My edifice shudders.
After you'd come, like a figure from out of
A fairy tale, to the bubbling pool, the picture
Of loveliness, Disneylike, almost, you didn't
Show up at the one on the roof, and I swam
By myself, as I sat by myself for the greater
Part of your family's reunion. Love's said
To triumph. Indifference can, too. I could
Send you a text, and you'd send a response,
But the warmth of the words I would write
Would be greater than those you would peck
Out to me. Yours would be tepid. Metaphors
Build. I'm the torrent. You're barely a stream.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 70 times
Written on 2019-11-01 at 16:41
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email