Spawn
I see you wrenched by the grip of the current,
prised from your leap by a false aperture,
no more enough to hope, yet just enough to strive.
How can I tell you about the whole of this?
Of joyous return to the source,
and time’s circle - of journey resolved?
I fear for you wretched in the moment,
gaze fixed unerring against the spite of the water,
constantly onward and pummelled by backward flow,
How can you guess at the end of this?
Of still blue pools and nature calmed,
and yearning end?
I’ll promise you something.
Your broken skin, rock-scratched and scarred,
badge and bruise of mortal toil worn,
in end, a fated hurt embraced.
Let it flow, let it all wash away.