Her Poetry: A Fatal Force

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Pure mountain rain is all it takes
To promise fatal force,
A trickle leaks from heightened stakes,
Rolls stealthily from the source.

It grows with every slippery bend,
Weaving in with murky pools,
It carries only clear blue sound,
Discarding matter cruel.

Driftwood’s tangled far behind,
So suck the jagged rocks,
Crushing cascade looming close,
A thousand lurching knots.

Our gentle lull becomes a sea,
Mutating with the hour,
Engulfing grass and river beds with
Exhilarating power.

Wilder still it catches wind
That everything will change,
A swirling vortex burrows down
And wipes away your name.

The ink is smudged and dripping now
In water colour, of course,
Out pours the fluid memory;
Out flows the fatal force.