Linda Stevenson #24 August 24 End of the Rainbow

End of the Rainbow

I am implicated, you are,

entirely.

End of the rainbow,

guest houses on the moon,

the alphabet;

these and all destinations

reel us in, we flap like fish

on encumbering lines.

Were we ever allowed to tour wild rivers

or search out the singularity,

that hope worth dying, living upon?

the edge of magnificent, or

the abysmal fall?

We were not, the hooks forever embedded

in our flesh, and our muted cries

echoing forever; we are forever subservient,

constrained, as babes in swaddling,

caught fish crashing in creels.

The rules of the big game are paramount,

the chase loaded against us;

hierarchies, with their myriad systems,

paralyze all natural wonder,

deceiving even the seas.

Freedom was a false trail

laid out on beaches by sideways walking crabs

before the washing tides sipped it up,

before Neptune, Poseidon...

before even the old whales danced.