#livingwater - Hello Poetry

I've known heights, aimed like a bullet to the top of the head. Forbidden songs, jagging placid landscapes. Waterblood waterbone -- my body cries out to me. How long the abuse, how long! In the barreled pit of my sober life up from common sense--snapping into it, my soul came alive. Alive I say! By grace I breached. Free in the wind! Kingdoms of water, alive kingdoms -- hear now the words of my tears. Mea Culpa! I slam on the brakes, tear off the roofs of steel compartments. I see sky and feel in daylight every hidden star. I declare -- the emperor of death has no clothing. I scatter forgiveness across all the fattened streets. Oceans of me are singing. A spinning angels' symphony. Over the graves of ancestors, I vow: Water, I shall love you. I shall speak up, shall protect you. I shall fight for you and die if I must. Ten times ten give my very life -- that you live.

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Sep 20, 2018

Sep 20, 2018 at 12:29 AM UTC

sam-hawkins

Waterbone

I've known heights, aimed like a bullet to the top of the head. Forbidden songs, jagging placid landscapes. Waterblood waterbone -- my body cries out to me. How long the abuse, how long! In the barreled pit of my sober life up from common sense--snapping into it, my soul came alive. Alive I say! By grace I breached. Free in the wind! Kingdoms of water, alive kingdoms -- hear now the words of my tears. Mea Culpa! I slam on the brakes, tear off the roofs of steel compartments. I see sky and feel in daylight every hidden star. I declare -- the emperor of death has no clothing. I scatter forgiveness across all the fattened streets. Oceans of me are singing. A spinning angels' symphony. Over the graves of ancestors, I vow: Water, I shall love you. I shall speak up, shall protect you. I shall fight for you and die if I must. Ten times ten give my very life -- that you live.

32

As children, in this springtide of the year, my two brothers and I would venture deep into our woods, exploring all that had thawed. Walking along, there was little need for talk, absorbed as we were in the scents and sights of lovely nature, awakening all around us. Following a line from the artesian well that fed our home, we listened for signs of an undiscovered, woodland stream. There, we heard it. That secret, lovely gurgle, somewhere hidden under soggy brown, deciduous leaves. Excitedly, we used sticks of hickory and oak to dig down, to free the living water. Once we had found it, clear and singing, we leaned in, working together to ease its path. Time disappeared from our minds, this self-appointed team of junior engineers. Somehow, though we wouldn't have known it then, that freshly springing water was life itself to us surging forth once more, finding, like each of us, its own way home. Now I understand, remembering our common sense of purpose, the way we worked together, with single-minded focus, why freeing it really mattered to us, mattered so very much, and always will.

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Apr 29, 2016

Apr 29, 2016 at 8:44 PM UTC

FrancescaRegan

Finding Living Water

As children, in this springtide of the year, my two brothers and I would venture deep into our woods, exploring all that had thawed. Walking along, there was little need for talk, absorbed as we were in the scents and sights of lovely nature, awakening all around us. Following a line from the artesian well that fed our home, we listened for signs of an undiscovered, woodland stream. There, we heard it. That secret, lovely gurgle, somewhere hidden under soggy brown, deciduous leaves. Excitedly, we used sticks of hickory and oak to dig down, to free the living water. Once we had found it, clear and singing, we leaned in, working together to ease its path. Time disappeared from our minds, this self-appointed team of junior engineers. Somehow, though we wouldn't have known it then, that freshly springing water was life itself to us surging forth once more, finding, like each of us, its own way home. Now I understand, remembering our common sense of purpose, the way we worked together, with single-minded focus, why freeing it really mattered to us, mattered so very much, and always will.

27

Het hart is Een bodemloze put Elke schreeuw echoot De leegte groot als Het gevuld wordt met het Woord dat de holte Doet klinken zonder Het te vullen met Levend water

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Jun 17, 2012

Jun 17, 2012 at 11:14 AM UTC

aw

Bodemloze put

Het hart is Een bodemloze put Elke schreeuw echoot De leegte groot als Het gevuld wordt met het Woord dat de holte Doet klinken zonder Het te vullen met Levend water

9