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After a time, of
trial, underwater, I,
have been, made a trial,
of, for, my green naïveté.
By, blue judges, sojourning,
atop; seabeds, oceanbeds, and,
riverbeds, all, whom, convey. That,
it takes,
only, seconds,
to be; jettisoned,
or, cast, or, swept; away.
Even, less, of a while, to dive in,
or, to get wet, and, be carried, upon,
hooligan-ed waves,
without, a single, sorry,
soaken, word to say. But, it,
takes, an untidal age, of eclipsed,
moonlit eons, for a river-, or, ocean-
mouth, to speak. In shock. When, their,
jolting undercurrents, are yet, to ever, state;
change.

© poormansdreams

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