Oil Slick

When I first started to write this poem, I wanted the piece to sound poetic before actually deciding it was, in fact, a poem. I wrote this in my journal, which is small and doesn’t leave a lot of room for those who have big handwriting like myself.

I noticed that the words I had to end my lines on were flowing as if this was meant to be a poem, so I kept going with the idea that when I rewrite this, it will be a poem. Lo and behold, a poem emerged from my notes.

I didn’t want to add anything else to the lines. There was no need to force anything. This was one of the few times where I wrote something and it actually came out exactly how I wanted it to with very minimal changes.

I took this as a sign to not revise anymore than what I truly felt was necessary and give you this poem.

Oil Slick

The iridescent glow of death
glimmers deceptively down the road
to the pond filled with beautiful plants
and fish with scales that match the shine
in the water flowing along the curb.

The fish welcome death — unknowingly —
who showed up unannounced and uninvited,
attracted to the dancing colors
suspended and shifting with the current.

The roots absorb everything already passed
through the gills, through the mouth,
and out the back end; no one can or will
escape; everyone must go.

But with time, long after the initial
invasion, the pond’s inhabitants lost
to the unnatural order of today will find
color and the movement of life again.



If you’re interested in submitting your own work, please visit my blog’s page and see my submission guidelines. I’m very open to accepting all genres, so don’t hesitate to send your work my way.

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