Scars

Liquid greens, blue and browns
the stream flows with all the colours in your eyes.
The glitter of the sun hitting the water
like your mischievous glances
filling up every nook, every cranny,
washing every pebble, grain of sand,
until gleaming again

A dry beach, strips torn away by the wind
patient, waiting to be made wet
totally immersed in the tide of just one love.

Still sore, weeping
battle scars of passion, unhinged, unwanted, rejected.
Old scars, itching, getting scratched until bleeding starts again
the cycle ends.

Just one Earth,
millions of booted feet, heavy with ignorance
tramping, squelching, kicking, littering.
Heads without minds, just alcohol/heroin substitute
and dreams of the past.
Talking, laughing, missing the point, never listening ...
The stream runs red.

by Karen J Worth 1987