Rivers

Rivers
by Trisha Jarabelo

My fingers subsists rigid through the tick of a needle
The blank gaze I confer settles zilch, unmoving wasted
Deep oblivion wields in my chest that’s wounded
As I again suffer the pain that hast long been idle

Looking back to this unsullied Tower of Babel
Bestows me flashes of hopes I comprise to the wretched
When I never knew that this loom shall be forfeited
By the same hands that molded this structure so addle

Then I wipe impending morose and struggle a curve that I rekindle
To the lone macaw who accepted thy self who’s ragged
Whom I treasured even with its clipped wings I hath tended
Now, I set thine free to learn the mystery of impudence bevel

Spread thy wings and voyage to the end of the Angel’s tail fondle
For I’ll be waiting for thou at the end of the Nile, my beloved