Hemlock Bay: a poem


Staff Writer
When standing in a midnight wind’s reeling,
The mind is deafened to any real feeling.
Contradiction and paradox run amok,
While thoughts are trapped beneath muck.
Everything ended before anything had started.
Affection and all her friends departed.
All that remained were the crowd uncouth
And broken skin painted shades of puce.
The streams which flowed were sanguine.
The blood-red moon was waxing.
Emotions were pulled from the scabbard,
Cutting and slicing like an eager dagger.
How could devotion lead one so astray,
Straight to the mouth of Hemlock Bay?
Why not find some peace and jump straight in?
Can’t tell what’s different if you never begin.
In the winter, Hemlock Bay is frozen,
Yet the water remains translucent.
The surface is gorgeous and inviting.
All ice, how distressing.
Skate, skate. Mustn’t fall through.
Break, break. Ice is fragile too.
Wet, wet. How miserable you are!
Cold, cold. Hypothermia isn’t far.
The midnight wind draws icicles
On cold hearts with numb ventricles.
What other kind of heart would linger here?
Only those dejected and austere.
And when the shoreline Ambrosia blossoms,
It’s picked apart by deluded possums
And grasped by Summer’s treading swimmers,
Hoping to find some propitious tincture.
And now, at the parapet between sea and sky,
The hopeless hopefuls wonder why.
How cold and dark the world must be
If the bay remains for thee.