The Creek

Morning dew glistening
Amber and crimson fingers of radiance of a new day
Subtle sweetness of morning blossoms infinite
Tickling the olfactory senses of my life

Yet I see the sand
The crunching of leaves breaks the morning silence
A lonely echo of the mourning dove
Calms the silence; making it new

Looking at where the creek had been
Only a thickened crevice of silt and decay remains
What once produced and contributed to life
Is now a distant memory

The pungent aroma of organic ruin
Permeates the happy odors of the new day
Bringing forth into conscious thoughts
The disheartening sadness of days past

Once playing a significant role in life
Now the irrepressible embodiment of turmoil and despair
Unable to contribute further
To this current existence

I assume a prone position upon the darkened clay
I feel myself become as one with the decay
What was previously a creek, what is now a ravine
Screams of loneliness; beckoning me to join

Joining in the ruination of nature
A metaphor of my own existence
I see my own ruin
I can smell my own decay

Future visitors may pass
And pay little heed to the creek
For they knew not what the creek once was
Only its present state

Devoid of life and being
Taking up excessive valuable space,
It simply refused to continue flowing
And dried up for an eternity

Yet rivers still flow
Still teeming with existence
Not knowing what was once a part of their domain
Has ceased to be

Forever
Gone forever
Death
Life.

©2001, by Jaymie Knight
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