Get Your Premium Membership

The Lake

The Lake..... lies… still, a glistening sheet of tin foil, shimmering in a cold-eyed wind. At night the lake... lies… still; a coffin with lid screwed light-tight. On occasion, the moon trickles light, lightly across the lake's pitch-black back; the knack of making the coffin lid crack! Today, I challenge myself to touch-dive the lake’s chilling depths, halfway down I halt, a dark vault, weakens my errant confidence. Despite puppet legs and handcuffed arms I spin frantically to reach a detached surface, bursting out like some skittish, Scottish salmon only to be held between the two supremos; illuminated sky and darksome water. Tonight, the lake grips my bedroom window and I watch as watery, inky tentacles claw and talon at an unsettled shoreline. Later, I wait for sleep to possess me, sensing surrounding hills clinging closely while rain falls like pellets of iron. So I drift…listening to the lake whispering dangerous, whispering treacherous secrets until nature’s seesaw; night tilts into daylight. Ian Souter

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.


Book: Reflection on the Important Things