The River Is

The river is a slanting object of our times,
One mimics the water waves with infinite pleasure.
The slanting design is from up above like a roadway;
Inside, the fish swim and squall in hundreds,
Fixing their stare on genuine moments too ancient
To the legendary fish, too much like an epic poem.

A sea has spat its contents onto dry land, a fastening
Of hooks and a fantasy of outlasting strategy,
The sea casts a net on the earth's pain and paint,
Strengthening the bridges, keeping awkward pains
And irritations for the world at large, a fountain
Has begun; feel the running water of this hour.

The seas have attitude, some freeze as if confronted,
Others sag and lag to free their souls once finite,
The seas are an ocean of orchestras, feeding musical
Water to the outstretched continents of consideration,
A blessed rain has happened, a tiny vault has opened;
Our waters are safe from the fiends of the undersea.

Wednesday, January 4, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: rivers,sea
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