The Undertow

M.E. Tuthill

Unconscious is the undertow,
That flows beneath the sea.
When seemingly the surface
Is calm as it could be.

The stillness of the water,
Belies a sad refrain.
Played out in willful ignorance
Of deep familial pain.

No bliss was this accompanied
Utterances unheard.
Spoken in the dead of night,
Until the day bestirred.

When it comes to loved ones,
Talk is never cheap.
Every word, a meaning,
In emotion steeped.

The fool becomes the finder,
With the truth in tow,
Crippled by the heft,
Of cargo left below.

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September, 2010



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