If torrents could run
through rivers of the old,
I’d surrender my being
and let them take hold
of my mind, this body,
the time that’s been told—
and traded in alleys
dim, fetid, and cold.
If torrents could alter,
harden into growth,
like a leash wound tight
around my ankles,
biting with cold,
I wouldn’t thrash
or resist.
I would stay afloat,
waiting for sunlight,
for devotion,
for hope.
Dec 23, 2025
Dec 23, 2025 at 7:41 AM UTC
If torrents could run
through rivers of the old,
I’d surrender my being
and let them take hold
of my mind, this body,
the time that’s been told—
and traded in alleys
dim, fetid, and cold.
If torrents could alter,
harden into growth,
like a leash wound tight
around my ankles,
biting with cold,
I wouldn’t thrash
or resist.
I would stay afloat,
waiting for sunlight,
for devotion,
for hope.
