Swirls Darkening

Thus begins another week for rivers without end,
children of all ages waving from rooftop and bank,
some grasping toys without wheels,
others with keepsakes and aging memories,
imagined flights without wings,

masking not.

Inside the swirling rush of humanity
are mountainous warriors formerly tall,
dreams promised now abandoned,
words as sludge,
an ooze bouncing upon churning crests,
voices swallowed by a vortex,
once but a trickle,
now a blur of downward draining.

Diamond faced time-catchers
wait patiently at bank's edge,
a dreamer's stick boat bobs about,
on its deck a maligned spider
frozen into patience,
awaiting the present to pass.

Eventually a rebuilt web of fortune
will find port,
will reach out,
nature's glad tidings of survival
weaving together once again
fruition's descendants.

We

Like our arachnid friends,
will search from our nearsighted manifold eyes,
contesting the basic obvious unanswered quests,
wonder at its never-ending current.

Others

Will tilt their wrists,
still blinded by glittering hour-hands
pacing off but backward time,
even as they wink to the Right,
laugh to the Left.

Fate

Delusional-spats adorning fancy footwork,
momentarily dry on bank's crumbling clay,
unaware the inside-betrayal,
tomorrow's upstream surprises trickling forward
becoming inevitable rapids of erosion
rendering more innocent
beneath the guilty

it's but another week…

Swirls darkening.