— David Eisbach

The water was as smooth as wind-blown sand,
rings fled from the bite of the oar,
first one side then the other.
The frail canoe headed into the unknown.

Jagged rocks compressed the river’s
turbulence into a wall of foreboding.
The task of the oar was recast
to soften the jarring blows.

Angry water leapt from barrier stone
enveloping all in a blizzard.
The outcast oar lost its power
and the swirl of white turned red.

One thought on “Pain

  1. Your language is so rich and this poem’s message (at least to me) very clear and evocative. Thank you.

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