II. Beneath the River's Skin
Reflections that Refuse Silence
The river wears a mirror’s face,
a shifting mask, a silver trace.
It shows the sky, it shows the trees,
it shows the wind that bends the reeds.
But look too close and the image breaks,
the surface shivers, the silence shakes.
Beneath the glass, another world hides,
a darker current the mask divides.
Fish move quiet, with lanterned eyes,
carrying secrets the depth belies.
Roots reach downward, clutching stone,
whispering truths the waves disown.
And what of me, reflected there?
One face gleams bright, the other is bare.
One self swims deep, beyond the gaze,
one self walks free in the world of days.
The river sings: you are not one—
your mask and marrow cannot be undone.
The skin of water, the soul beneath,
together breathing, together beneath.
About the Creator
Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales
I love to write. I have a deep love for words and language; a budding philologist (a late bloomer according to my father). I have been fascinated with the construction of sentences and how meaning is derived from the order of words.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.