Alex Garr


The Lake - Poem by Alex Garr

Calm. Still.
Nothing.
No movement and
No sound.
Only an image in
A pool of liquid crystals.
It shows everything that
It sees. It has the world
In it’s sights.

An image perfectly reflected,
Inverted in a parallel universe.
Its own trees,
Its own sky,
Its own life.
Twice as bright
Even with a blanket of clouds
Covering the heavens above.

The clouds themselves are dark,
Menacing. They are titanic beings that
reach across the sky
As each one tries to embrace
Another half a world away.
And now their fingers have clasped together,
Creating a thick coating of
Iron fluff.

A storm is on the way.
A quick swim before it comes.
A single finger enters the lake
And water ripples around it.
The mirror image shatters and undulates,
Giving a quick glimpse to the soft sand beneath,
Before finally calming down.
Doesn’t feel too cold.
Splash!

From the world above
The two universes looked alike.
But from down here,
This one is completely different.

Down here,
The sand is soft and brown.
Down here,
Everything is tinted blue.
Down here,
The animals are so different from above.
Shells instead of rocks
(There are still rocks) ,
Different mollusks than just snails
(There are still snails) .
Was that a turtle?
And the fish!

They dart in and out of the seaweed,
Shy yet curious.
These creatures are so very much more
Colorful than anything above
(At least from anything around here) .
They’re watched them for as long as possible,
But creatures from the world above
Can’t stay down here forever.
They need to breathe the air.

Feet push off from the soft ground.
They sink a little, kicking up mud.
The surface is splintered
Into a thousand droplets of color.
Oxygen-rich air rushes into deflated, empty lungs.
Back under.

Feet kick and arms pump.
Movement.
Walking without walking. Running without running.
Flying without wings.
Soon, there are—

A near silent bang
Echoes throughout the water.
A flash of light soon follows.
The fish scatter in surprise.
The sound of Ping! resounds throughout,
Constantly,
Endlessly.

Back on the surface,
Millions of needles pierce the once
Peaceful surface of the lake.
An endless torrent,
A sheet of rain.
Wind blows across the lake.
Miniature waves rush sideways.
Thunder crashes and roars,
A deafening sound.
Seconds later,
A bolt of lightning descends from Valhalla
And rams into the thin curtain
Of the lake’s surface.

A body floats to the top.


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Poem Submitted: Friday, August 6, 2010

Poem Edited: Friday, March 18, 2011


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