Tag Archives: fountain

Grateful To(o)

Grief assailed me, unawares,

As much as I was unprepared,

While (much less) people (than imagined) stared.

A fountain outside became a memory,

Becoming another fountain inside of me,

A force so uncontrollable, from a depth so inconsolable,

Unreachable through human touch.

A violently tender expulsion, channelled through trembling shoulder convulsions.

Alien energy rose from my gut to my chest,

And clamped it hard, each breathe short and jarred.

Grateful I was, to the hard wooden bench I sank onto;

Grateful I was, to the anonymity of this urban London square,

where couples immersed in embrace,

dog owners were lost in chase,

and focused fitness regimes followers flurried and hurried past.

Grateful I was, to the squirrel perched on a stone.

Unaware, unaffected: Its preoccupation with survival itself a comfort.

Grateful too, for the incessant sound of the fountain,

Monotonously speaking its constant purpose:

Water forever lost and replaced; uncatchable, in the eternal flux of chase.