still waters

My waters run deep
but often I am seen paddling in rock bottomed streams
kicking familiar stones
not daring to dare
there I am safe although cut adrift
mourning the morning light
the ceaseless dawn resting its heavy head
on my uneven shallow beds.

Feverish for what I can't give myself,
like being caught between two waves
standing here, shaking, waiting
in the hush of it all
stiffening knees brittle with fear
forced to buckle into unknown opaque pools
murkier than my dream laden nights,
where chrysalised desires seek a transformation.

The steps here are new yet moulded by ancient hands
wrinkled by wisdom
pointing towards signposts saying 'beginning and end'
to depths I have demanded
down to a cascading hell and heaven
a roaring rush pulling me to a widening river
where the gaping jaws of the local cliffs
open out to an ocean I had once forgotten.