The River of Eras

Surely, there lies an immanent core

anchored somewhere in this chasm?

Swells amidst roiling hills and vales,

a ravine veils the riverbed’s repose.

But Eros conspires with the Fates,

hurling me headlong through rapids—

turbulent fervours of lovers surge,

then, blindsided by a roaring precipice—

I plunge,

limbs flailing,

into the faceless abyss.

What’s the point of being vied for—

a “rare pearl” among the silt,

only to be jettisoned into a waterfall,

devalued as “sham nacre”—

a stranger, last seen a long time ago?

If love is a river, then let it be known:

I’m shell-shocked by your torrents;

intensity is the counterfeit of love.

So bathe me in gentle streams – my Everglades.

And if my love takes eras to cascade down to me,

at least she’ll be true

a quiet bedrock,

unyielding.