Deep Waters

The beauty of the celurian summer sky
reflecting on the river’s bondi blue.
Or is it the water reflecting on the sky?
Not everyone is brave to enter the waters,
the feminine, the emotional world.

I was standing there, stretching my hand out to him.
Once that opportunity was there,
but he did not take it.
He was too afraid
of being naked,
of being truly seen,
of love.

I said to him in all the ways
that he could trust me –
he did not.
It was too honest,
too true,
and he wasn’t used to real.
He preferred to stay dry on the shore,
to be sucked into the pits of his own demise,
for that’s all he knew.

Drought was familiar.
Creatures that consumed him further,
sucking what little he had,
going from bad to worse to worst,
not knowing up from down,
lost in his own doing.

To taste the deep sacred waters
one needs to be ready,
ready to be immersed in their flow,
to be lulled by its powerful waves,
to be burnt by its salty sweetness,
to be baptised, renewed and reborn.

And not everyone is ready.