Inundation
Traveller, walking mountain paths,
with sharp flints strewn, as shards of broken dreams;
the sun beguiles the sky.
Storm clouds are gathered.
Why does your heart dam tears within dry stone?
Would you rest, walking valley roads?
Along these rain-whipped highlands, life may soar
upon the violent air.
Fear must not impart
desire to wall these tides of weeping love.
Storm does not respect choking stone.
Your heart lies, shattered, by strange tempest’s roar -
a soft call, whispered, clear.
Let a flood break free;
love’s long desire to sing upon the hills.
© Simon J Ashcroft, 2023
