It all began as a trickle, a mere thought of possibility,
A beginning, a creation, a glint of desire,
The heaven’s decried a gift so burdensome,
Disguised within the sands of rose coloured sunsets.
**
Water seeped into the edges, scoured the hard edges of nearby crevasses,
Until scars seared the entry way, crumbling within,
Water teemed from the sky like misfortune’s teardrops,
And the agony rode the oncoming waves.
**
Destruction roared through the valley, wiping the landscape clean,
Gifting the world with its illusion of new growth and new beginnings,
When in reality the storm was smouldering in the distance,
Patiently watching, patiently waiting — for that perfect opportunity.
**
At that opportune time, tragedy struck with a blindsiding of epic magnitude,
The river wound and twisted in new directions; toxic and poisoned,
The underwater world devastated and crippled,
Almost wiped out of existence by an innocent mistake.
**
Too much of a good thing turned the landscape barren,
The causation of take, take, take, but never giving back,
Depletion an exhaustion of resources so extensive the world’s back was broken,
A heartbroken cripple unaware of its greatest misdeed.
**
The river became but a far cry of memories,
The taste of sweet water a forgotten figment of imagination,
The elderly reminiscent of the days of plentiful,
Knowing it would never be the same.
**
But slowly a trickle breaks through, totally unbidden,
A slow leak gradually widens along the waterways, flowing swifter,
As realisation sets in — too much was given,
Now with the understanding that it was this given that poisoned the source.
**
It’s too late to correct the destructive force of nature that branched in a southernly direction,
But a new path can be forged, one through which the boundaries are not broken,
With a request for forgiveness to sever the rights from the wrong,
And the river of dreams can be woken from its toxic slumber.
**
The final years will be forged in the innocence of purity,
Trekking through the greenest of vista views,
Showering the younger generation of growth with its magic,
Washing away the sins of the past lands forevermore, the tainted dissolution the end of the road.
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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Comments (1)
Oh wow, this was so deep and beautiful. Loved it my friend!