don't cast into the darkness
of the future,
your fretted brow
played like an instrument of torture.
Wading into the clear, fast-flowing stream
you look not at the glinting dance
of dawn upon the water
but over your shoulder at the glowering night
that hangs on to the horizon
with whitened knuckles
and breathes on your neck
its snaking, insidious gases,
issuing from its swampy maw
fetid with fear.
Nervous fingers catalogue your flies,
here the feathers of your commitment
frayed and threadbare,
there a once sparkling spinner
now tarnished with disappointment
and you wonder,
sighing as you survey the eddies,
where will it strike
and do you have the lure?
deep in the aquamarine,
the sun filtering through the shimmering surface,
firing the melody of my rainbow markings
as I ripple my body,
flicking my tail just enough
against the current
to hold myself as still as the now.
And when I strike your shining lure
you will know my savage momentum
brooks no hesitation,
never contemplates going back
and buries the hook
into the bony jawbone of belief.
Welcome back to Tuesday Poem after the Southern Hemisphere summer hiatus. Do take the time, if you have it to spare, to read all the wonderful Tuesday poets.
Unfortunately, we denizens of Christchurch got a Christmas present from Mother Nature that we would rather not have unwrapped. More big earthquakes. I'd be a liar if I pretended the ongoing seismic activity didn't wear down our resilience.
But I hope that elsewhere you had a lovely Christmas and a restful holiday.