The Dark Tumult

2-White-Tern-perched-on-Iron-Wood-tree-roots-Sand-Island-Midway-Atoll-Hawaii2

—.—

The Dark Tumult

—.—

There a body lay in pools of black,

weeds white-locked the skin made water-slack,

the harrowing mountains calling back—

the dark tumult of polluted death.

-.-

A river of lace fingers shooting

into fresh pools of oaken rooting;

Yet, thine roots ever more polluting—

the dark tumult of polluted death.

-.-

Carbon’s cycle heeds no conscience kiss

upon root-fingers, nay, not remiss,

for Cain’s mark of decomposting bliss—

the dark tumult of polluted death.

-.-

Forlorn of face, this your pitied place,

amongst shingles and leaves without-trace,

of life you lived in memory’s grace—

the dark tumult of polluted death.

___
© Iain Sutherland, 2014.
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