Fresh Water

We bore the scars of our own creation,
ridden bare and bleak by snake’s temptation.
Out from the curtain of heaven we bled of
pelting rain.  The greatest minds sat alike,
an uneven gaze.  Their eyes cast tempests of maze,
thrown into our throats – puzzled on chaos’s choke.
Until their hands, so radiant with knowing,
would open our neck and let us see, alles
bathed in chaos was by them made.  Our
own choking on salt water was by an artist’s
aid.  They sat and chuckled at our sputtering,
they sat and spun their webs of salt, fond of
all the mimicry of creation they had in false-
ness laid.  How foolish we were to drown,
how foolish we lived, only bleeding scars
from a genesis we were incapable to believe.


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