The River

I have dreamed as you have dreamed
Of the black river wounded by silence.
There is death in the tears I shed
At the banks eclipsed by lotus.
There is sadness in the lillies
Housing oblivions of dreams so fair.
A silent sunrise breeds no rays
Upon the melancholy of the waves.
And stones buried in the high grasses
Heave perfumes of forgotten days.
Like polished glass, the waters flow
With fell shadows like unto gore
Running below a surface
Garbed in the leaves that fall;
Cloaked in the mists that gather
From the cold of sapphire skies
In autumn’s kiss decayed.

© 2019 Marten Hoyle