Ripple Rush

Careful not to skip life’s stones or they might skip you,

Thus sang the angel face of a child,
Before a fate she knew.

One day the forest whispered
Come let’s play;
And off she went in search of joy,
And ended up in prey.

Rest follows a forest hike, she reasoned;
And so lay by the river’s edge,
Covered by the sun’s glare;
As seasoned.

Dreams clutched her in their claws,
Joined in thought of the river flow,
Wrestled by fish,
As chess pawns.

In spirit form they wound,
Through aqua green, through blue;
By convoluted memories,
They drowned.

The ghostly swirl tossed about
The golden locket ‘round her neck;
Off it went,
Into the cerulean wreck.

Now the wind chased the leaves;
‘round her bare feet they played,
And her fingers dug through the soil,
Through the dream’s swirl of scented lemonade.

Through her fingertips bit,
The locket’s frost;
The water’s tint grew into staring eyes,
While waves formed wrinkles that spoke of cost.

Scathed had become her cheeks
By the twigs of the ancient tree.
Awaken she became
By the daytime owl’s shrieks.


Rousing thus she felt
The locket’s burden round her neck,
She found it was the wrinkles
In which her memories still dwelt.

A clock the locket bore,
Beneath the metal of which
Lay the burned skin of the sun,
While the tick met the pulse she wore.

Standing now,
The child resumed her song,
Followed by the daytime owl,
As though her barefoot steps were wrong.