Critical, creative and digital writingEcriture critique, créative et numérique

 ? 𝞪/A


The date of that morning, I have graved In my mind, the day my lake was gone, Vanished. No water, no life, so grave. Wait! No! Not even the sight of a swan! Where did it go? Was it stolen, or Taken, or broken? Was it even there? No, it was there, the prominence of our lore, The lake that shaped my eyes good and fair! A huge roar! The sky, angry, hungry, Feels slighted, too full of rain, It pours its insides, but I'm not happy, It's too late, nothing will erase the pain! The lands, bleak and grey, free From life, scarce with food, Are dead, like my soul, whose tree Used to feed on the lake's mood.