How deep beneath the surface of the pool,
Do we dare look?
How deeply may we swim within the weeds,
And not get caught?
Trapped by the inconvenient truth of self,
And so to drown alone.
We, who are broken search the rippled glass,
For something other,
Something fresh,
Instead of stagnant waters,
Some life with glinting scale,
Rather than mud and filth.
How deeply dare we look?
How long must we spend,
Emptying the pool,
Only to find our bones and roots,
Clasped firm within the clay?
Time does not always heal.
Water cannot wash the sins away.
Instead they sink and feed,
The lilies that now bloom,
White tinged with ancient blood.
Within the silent water,
Within the nymph’s embrace,
Still dwells the ancient ruler of the water,
Devourer who bellies deep within the muck.
Beneath that surface dwells another face.



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