Poetry

Fisherman’s Dream

He sits on the couch
with the pain in his back,
concerned by the lack
of words reaching his mind
despite the flood he feels inside
A life’s worth of wonder dammed up
in a swollen lake just shy
of the medulla oblongata
The pressure
tangible and intense
but no sirens sound
downstream
Nothing is being released
The dam is strong, ancient
Created with great precision
The finest hand hewed blocks
of repression seamlessly joined
with blood and broken dreams
Only rarely a leak
to allow a few tears of
frustration to trickle
over the spillway and
down his concrete cheeks
If only he could reach
that lake of genius!
Pristine and deep
Full of frolicking
silver-sided ideas
Stocked without fail
year after year and
never an angler touched
Oh, he got a line in
from time to time
but only landed a
a few small fry
because he got scared
Scared of what he might find
in that icy deep, of
what monster might drag
him in and drown him
So he waits on
the high ground
Waits for the sound
of that first crack
when the lake can
no longer be held back
and releases pure rivers
of sparkling brilliance
to flow freely through
the dry chambers
of his mind

Categories: Poetry

Tagged as: , , , , , , ,

6 replies »

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s