I think I write bad poetry -Thames v3
The low tide Thames lays bare
the ground I am chained to
the grey gold red in the summer twighlight
flows past like always
And I am asked to repent
as they must have
chained here
feeling the tide rise
but I say no
there is nothing to be forgiven for
honour in action and inaction
if not quite of orchid poise and style
always with
the strain of honour
And the river rushes past
brown green with sea and sand and land and loam
up now to my legs
pulling and pushing me
against the chains
and still I refuse
to repent
that moment of moving from the state of sinner
to redeemed
Denied because
I do not see what I did was wrong
and the stone walls slick
and barnacled in turn
pen me against the river
as it rises against me
and it reaches my waist
and I feel the cold silt surround me
and it says repent
repent and this will end
I reply
there is nothing
to repent
regret perhaps
but not the back turn of repent
How could a single word
take me from this state to redeemed
free, but still chained here
the idea
of moving state
from valid to null
one zero
charge gained lost
potential
possibilities
As the silt reaches my mouth
ready to close my throat
One last chance
and I deny it
Because I only ever was
possibilities
nothing certain
nothing concrete
possibility
of me and you
maybe
for a short instant eternity
moment
always a suggestion
not taken for granted
you loved me at all
not chasing
mirroring
what you want
or hate
But possibility valid
stuffed now with silt
to a probable zero
and in those final moments
thrashing against chains
until the blood and silt surround me
blind
I don’t repent
a
single
moment
