Drowning

Drowning

I watch as a beaver piles branches, blocking the river’s flow.
Water laps the banks, spilling over into plant life,
nourishing them,.  Perhaps they are drowning instead.

I am a single flower on the bank and you, the beaver,
with all your good intentions have left me no choice
but to let the river rip me out of the ground,
roots hanging aimlessly. I join the river as it slips quiety
through cracks in the well-crafted wall.

In drowning, I am once again free and un-tethered.
And yet, I have left you there, alone and afraid,
that your one true fear has finally come to pass. 

SWPoet






Initial draft-see below.




















Beavers pile the branches
of fear and concern,
blocking the river’s flow.
Worry laps the banks, spilling over
into plant life, nourishing
or perhaps even drowning.

I am a single flower on the bank
And you, the beaver,
with all your good intentions
have left me no choice
but to let the river take me
and become part of the flow.

In drowning, I am once again
free and un-tethered.
And yet, I have left you there
alone and afraid
that your one true fear
has finally come to pass.