High Dream

You're listening to currents, standing there motionless as a silent ghost. Pondering the essence of moonlight, as it plays shaddows on the passing river.


Swirling like eels in high grasses, then taking shape, the river streams before you, swallowing you in the icy depths; footsteps then the memory fades as your tossed in and out of the ever-restless dreams that make you feel the hellish cold feeling of death.


Listen to the river and beleive in its cold thoughless beliefs, I know its distant now but the sound pf a body, splashing there. Alone, waiting. Who was it? Did we know?


Our teeth are clattering now, a lifetime's prison out in the cold. Hoarded in a house we'll never leave.
Outside, the water is frozen; yet in our minds the memory lingers soft and eerie.


I pass the high grasses less and less as the years pass by, but I still remember! My memories frozen in a block of time waiting to thaw within the basking light of forgiveness. I could have helped him,reached out for what was left of his cold worthless body yet I was stricken with fear as I watched him sink in the swirling mists like the diminishing frail figure of a spirit.


I see his face not pained almost in some ways relaxed; did he at some point think such a disaster would happen if so why did he not call out, plead or prey-I do not know.