My dear fish words are being spoken
They pour, through torrential rivulets
Into cascades drowning us as we bustle
In a beautified aquarium as big as a screen,
A box, a coffin, our darkest dream.
Words are being served on a silver platter
As dietary supplements whilst we struggle
To catch food for thoughts nutriments
For our ravenous disillusioned spirits.
Some are shouted some whispered
Others muttered to silently complain,
Insidiously instilling futile needs unfunded feelings
Most are messages of anger and fear.
Predicting ineluctable forthcoming pain
They promise mighty foes and catastrophes
As ancient punishments to our alleged sins
Lack of ardour gratefulness and generosity.
Truth is nowhere to be found, not in the ears
Of listeners nor on the lips of talkers,
Truth is deeply rooted within a Universe
Unafraid to heed the unsaid. What is felt.
Hence my dear fish my invitation for a day
Of silent contemplation for in silence rest assure
We will fin out of the screen and rediscover
The true beauty of our existence and The All.
[Featured artwork: Something Smells Fishy by Surreal Photomanipulation]