The Rapids
Grant L
Mrs. St. Jean
Still as death upon the water
Flowing
down stream
A
silent edge approaches as a Crocodile through the ripples
Cascading
it booms with the sound of freedom
Smashing
to the water below it is forced onward
It crashes
Collides
Douses
the flames of its on fury and power
It
cries for respite
But
none answer as it painfully advances
Onward
it flows
The
unbridled stampede of liquid plows through the fields of blue
Flying
like the eagles of the underworld
It
sprints as no man could do
Emptying
into a quiet marsh it lavishes in the silence
It
settles as if waiting for something
As
if waiting to pounce on its next chance for freedom