The Watery Woman

The water opened,
into a women who rose up, her gown flowing in the wind,
trickling down into the waters surface,
holding out her watery hand,
she handed me a golden chalice, left behind from the times gone by.

She descended into tears,
and the water became quite still,
The chalice was clasped in my hand now,
resting in untouched glory,
in the mirrored surface of the chalice.

A single tear remained,
dangled intricately,
looking down,
the chalice flowed with my inconsolable tears,
flowing from my tired eyes.