The Lake of Life
The Lake of Life
Placid water is ringed by steep banks, clusters of
Willows weeping at the water’s edge;
Their branches caress the surface in the breeze,
Sending intimations across to the distant shore.
Far into the centre, a splash heralds the predations
Of the sleek pike; whilst beneath the willows’ canopy,
Fallen insects held in the surface tension disappear
In the faint, lazy sounding plop of extinction.
Deep beneath the surface, hazy light reaches
down from the sparkling surface, momentarily
Bringing a silver flash of scales, before cloaking
Silently patrolling forms in sombre shadows.
As evening falls, the clouds of midges hang
Dark against the fading light, and swallows perform
Acrobatics in pursuit of the damsel fly escaping its
Watery confines. And the moment is broken by memory.
Memory: identity, selfness, the compass of a person,
Mirrored in the cruel serenity of the lake,
Seven ages played out in the mind, punctuated
By poignant recall of joy, and bittersweet sorrow.
So am I recreated endlessly by my memories;
Memories of you, memories of happiness, memories of
Loss and pain, new memories created as the
Old die, bringing renewal of self, an enduring “I”.
Copyright © Edward Clapham | Year Posted 2015
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