the trenches

the well of toxic water
the drool that mixed with mud
not even trees could keep the sound out
waiting for our funerals
waiting for the next tsunami wave to crash into us
for the tide to drive our bodies to the ocean
swallow us under
but we cannot swim
the surface seems so far away, unreachable paradise
and we float in the trenches
awaiting the end of our film

© simon whittle – from lovers’ tiff: a ballad

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