The Rafters and the Watchers
Living is a carnival ride down a cataract
on a raft made of wicker and bone,
each gray boulder holding ripples of
heartache - joy- togetherness and alone.
Amidst the froth, like minded others join in
navigating through concussion and confusion-
Along the shore are watchers-never jumping in for a sip,
never tasting sweet or sour on their lips
walking in the same direction, toward the falls
but they're already dead without a doubt.
The water path has steepened
the rafters have been thinned
the falls are just beyond the final bend
shooting over the unknown edge,
air born and terrified but wholly alive-
Splashing down into the silvery violence
flecks of loved ones and strangers
dead and alive tumbling in front of your eyes-
Popping to the surface of tranquility pool
bloodied-broken-yet peacefully cool
the clouds whispering, "the game ended in a tie".
The watchers arrive along the fringe of the fray,
heads down, garments pristine
losing at a game they never played.
All of us liberating their last tear and hobbled faith-
the buzzards move in taking rafters and watchers for a stroll
behind the waterfalls lined with misty angels and elephant bones.
2/4/19
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2019
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