Midnight Floods


The crumbling, mossy stone-bridge
achingly arches over the murky river
like a rusted rainbow over
staled expectations.
Its stooped railings still
tingle at the memory of
all the hands
– hopeful, sprightly, enraged,
tired, frightened, infatuated-
touching them.
The water drags its gray tongue
between the cheerless banks,
while muddy blades of grass
huddle up under a senile
weeping willow that
can’t remember whom
was it weeping for.
The grotesque conspiracy
of the weather elements
has muddied the daylight.
Endless, rainy, muddy night!

One thought on “Midnight Floods

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