deepundergroundpoetry.com
Down the Riverbed
Moss dances to the rhythm -
of an old knife violently mourning.
As it pays for its stay in rust -
watching the morning.
Down the riverbed.
Even in an overwhelming heatwave -
water chills to the bones.
Lights of the noon are chasing each other -
on landscape of stones.
Down the riverbed.
Wilting willow leaves weep -
incarnadine, falu and vermillion wed.
And in the gentle light of dusk -
the river runs red.
Down the riverbed.
Stars mingle in the edges of falling ice -
carving in signs from an ancient rune.
What a beautiful sight -
for withering moon.
Down the riverbed.
Fish are always hungry -
worms on their way.
And nothing will be left of your body -
if you spend a day.
Down the riverbed.
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