Languid Streams

There lives a gentle stream,

in languid lands of collective dreaming.

Living waters, waver free.

Mother, father on bended knee,

bowed by each catastrophe.

Bound, then opened, broken free.

Grieving has a hold on me:

Grabbing guts, got ghost degrees.

Dragged through ruts, made most of breeze.

w o n d e r i n g

how much of me had to freeze?

I whisper as I melt into the seas and they seize me.

Now you see comes a time where I need be - heart full of rewind, through the reeds see,

Now I can’t breathe, again.