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Mar 2019
He stands above the bridged weir,
watching the sunlight striking
the waterfall, where stream joins river,
bright silver spray, subtle spectrum.

Ripples exhaust their energy
on the black glassy surface,
obscuring the waiting menace
pervading his dark imaginings.

He's beyond its reach, sheltered
by artifacts, though exposed
in stillness to ghostly thoughts,
cloaked in ancient folklores' clothes,
savage rites, evil onslaughts.
Written by
Tony Luxton  Runcorn
   Kenn Rushworth
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