Flood Poem by Matty Reynolds


Years from now you'll understand.
You'll be happier for the water anyway,
The way it shimmers your reflection
And fools all of us into thinking
That we are younger than we are.

I will be here, the one who sets a
Second place at the table anyway.
The one with the warm water
Running and washing clean dishes.

Blue walls are staring at me as if
I was Moses and have parted the
Waters myself and am walking
Past walls of oceanic waves.
Such a lovely rolling path of tears.

I think of the ones who name each
Piece of stained glass projected on
A white wall- looking into themselves
And feeling a warm flood stain their
Cheeks from memories too hard
To remember- too good to forget.

To anyone convinced that a monologue
Is a conversation with the past;
I say to hell with the past!
To hell with monologues!
To hell with love, and tears
And water in general!

Paint the world into a dry desert-
Bereft of anything liquid at all,
Except beer. And whiskey!
And let those two spirits flood
Into me so I can forget you!
So I can forget this monologue
I write to you in a sepulture
Of regret and sadness where
I don my crown and sit upon
My self-loathing throne.

A flood of pain I give to you!
To all who are destined to inherit
This melancholy I have branded
Upon myself and all those near me.
My only advice is this:
Destiny is as hopeless as hope.

To us.

To a river of tears!
To the thousand rivers, and the
Three thousand seven hundred
God damned miles between us.
If you asked, I would flood it all,
Every last mile with the weepings
I have wept for you, for me, for us.
And I would gladly swim to you
Or drown trying.

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