On A River Torn

Torn between hedonist and priest, half begging you to take my hand, half believing in love and giving, the other half disgusted, screams less pain, less journey, less love. I come to seek this wide water, a comfort of silence and peace. A bride of serenity and despair beckons me to a dark cabin where I steel myself and heal. The rage of the world washes by in the bloodless river hidden. Safe, silent, walled from love, I am insular; no hatred invades the safety of my island totem. Where once I dreamed of water, a desiccated wasteland spirit calls. The waters pass by at their pace. I burn docks and pray in shadow: conceal me from blood, from flesh.