the poetry is hard, thankless,
without any compensation cepting the relieving of the brain
from its coarse futility and despondance.
we beat a path with our feet into this wilderness
through the wiregrass and across snakeholes,
in between flowering bushes and trees of unmistakable elegance.
Under moss and hanging branches,
suspended in time, forever and lost.
All spilling unto a bank by which a river ran,
crashing, as we were,
as though smoking a waterfall through copper pipes.
And I sez "let's dive in." and I dove in.
where to which uncertainty reigns
as though a witness to the conflictions of emotion.
the water filled in my splash and I was underwater,
how long i do not know,
Suffice to say that terror nearly overtook the undistinguished parts of my mind.
my fear trapped underwater with me,
each clinging to the other.
when my coughing form deposited itself onto the sandy banks
my convulsions left no room for self searching.
i caught from the corner of my left eye
the sight of my counterparts each rushing downstream
all borne, destined for deeper penetrations into the heart of darkness.
My complacency became overshadowed by a second dive,
made from various curiosities and casual seeking.
And in passing my landlubbing friends I observed aloud:
"Brothers, I always dove first but you discovered more.
I love you and depart now for to light the way.