Drowning is often silent
We met on the high road
Each clanging our shields with iron fists
How poorly made were we for the environments
Of school and love and does it matter
Drowning is often silent
We met on the low road
Where man scurries from place to place
Shorn of adjectives, shorn and bleeding, limping past each other with eyes focused ahead never pleasantries to the right nor worries to the foot
Just straight on through
Drowning is often silent
In the mid range you gasp
In the depths are lost
But above the shark exposes his fin and rolls the great black eye of death
Mindfully and blindly biting
AbyKittiwake 