Blood In The Water
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A garden lives on, forever pondering,
A lake sits still, forever wondering,
A mountain stands tall, forever reflecting,
Yet a river flows, forever waiting.

The droplets of water, hitting the rocks,
The ticking of time, the chime of a clock,
A zephyr of wind, always in shock,
The flow of the breeze, the click of a lock.

The rushing of water, chaotic and free,
The stillness of water, waiting with glee,
The length of a river, a joyous journey,
The sound of a river, the boiling of tea.

Rustling leaves, towering trees,
Twittering birds, the buzzing of bees.
Blooming of flowers, petals of tease,
The flowing of water, always at ease.

It stops.

A garden of hatred, no longer pondering,
A lake, disturbed, no longer wondering,
A mountain, broken, no longer reflecting,
The river subsides, no longer waiting.

The patter of footsteps, kicking the rocks,
The clock sits still, the ticking has stopped,
The gust of wind, bullets amok,
The scream of a soldier, the break of a lock.

The water is gone, parched, for thee
The river now drained, there is no glee,
The length of a river, a horrid journey,
The sound of silence, of a dead sea.

Rustling leaves, the scorching of trees,
The echo of bombs, explosions carefree,
The sounds of battle, to you I plea,


The flowing of water is forever at ease.

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