I am a reservoir of the unsaid
....
writing and images by @d-pend
....
I am a reservoir of the unsaid
A child peers into a well on whim
to glance upon the future in a drop
which coruscating, falls into the heart
of aquifer, of undisturbèd pool,
of maid tentacular, to fetch the scrolls
upon which all the his'try of his home
is written, dearest youth, he dreamèd not
that widows bloomèd, summer flowers greyed
in echoes of the fruit-pit cemet'ry
wherein he gallops well his noble steed
imaginary — passes idle day
pursuing the exotic throe of night
in stepping-wise and stumbling on the plain.
A sudden whisper snaps his reverie;
from wellward sing the voices of the deep.
***
My child, stay, and listen to thy well,
a spring of wisdom-stem, of willful glee:
receiveth in the reverb'rating mome
the depth-hood, yea, the full extent of me.
Sultry are the moons I linger 'neath,
nebulous the storms I undergird.
Flimsy are cacophonies of war
whose soldiers do I suckle with their herd.
Then also have I seen disquiet eve
when softly whirring world is yet at peace:
disquiet of the torment of the soul,
unbearable desire—all to cease.
Your father was the shingle-slope of May;
your mother—the poppy and the jay,
the lavender and ginger-tea of June,
then drunk he was, and drownèd far too soon.
***
The child listens, hearing all too well
the fragmentary recitation's whole.
As he was taught to hearken to the skies—
his ear unto the water, too, he plies.
"I am a reservoir of the unsaid."
He muses, with a coyly tilted head.
by Daniel J. Pendergraft
.
first published to STEEM
February 19th, 2020
