Dana De Jong Poet I do not know?

The Red Sea

Testing for me my will to be, for you see I cannot see the glee beyond this misty sea of 
despondency. 

This misty dryness,
A fork in our path, 
divides us like withering fronds with no heed to its wrath. 
In the dreaded dry spell
Where the lost ones fell 
Tender bodies lie upon crackling death,
Given up, 
Crushed by the river they’ve left.

Swiftly god moves the rapid rivers of time, leaving us behind in the division we find.

We are left in the blind. 
Our mind, that warm comfort it cannot remind. 
Searching, lurking,
All values rewind, 
To a time when we remember the world to be kind.
And we say, as if passed by relay, 
the question we all turn to in states of dismay:
“Life is unfair" so why must it be this way?
The answer is imminent, we all know it well: 
“Life is unfair” so get used to this hell. 

So in unorganized formations we march through this hell, and if one were to mind a read of 
behind, one might see where the river divides, where the lost ones sink beneath the red 
tides.

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