Depths Of Innocence Poem by Adora Williams

The fire and the water are fighting
Is the water the last stage? — said the old man

The elements we see since Culture took over our eyes
Are self-represented, but the wind takes a feather
It takes sage, and the sagesse will speak
Her last words when she falls
Falls — and she needs no prelude

I fell in the boat of an unknown sailor

I was flying as he swam the seas of imperfection
And fire and water started to fight for rapture
No wind, just the willpower of confusion — not asking why
Pheasants envying the gift of the birds

The sea, in me, I flew in a free fall
I'm the opus made out of draft and fortune
And still lacking so much mastery, I call for a gambler to end me