Deep Pool

They said the pool was bottomless,
we weren’t allowed to go there alone
or dive into it’s ink black dark.
Surrounded by rough rocks it had carved
a narrow way in from the river,
centuries ago I think, in no-one’s memory.
Rumours of strange drownings abounded,
of people swimming too near the centre
and being pulled under as if by a great force
never to be seen by man or on this earth again.
No reeds or weeds ruffled it’s surface,
no ripples crossed it’s ebony darkness,
a satin sheet stretched smoothly to the rocks
as if inviting disturbance, some rough distraction.

One day, I felt brave, I broke the rules.
I went alone, stripped off my clothes,
I clambered over the nearest rocks, dived in.
The water was ice cold, the splash becoming
white crystals rising, the surface broken.
I swam swiftly, keeping close to the edges,
never approaching the still, calm centre
to which all retuned when I climbed out.

Now I’ve plunged into your previously unruffled life,
causing ripples and distraction and disturbance.
venturing far too close to your still, calm centre
knowing, I will either be lost forever in your deeps
or washed up on the rocks watching you return
to your self imposed detachment, your isolation.


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