The Watershed

The Watershed
has rolled away
into the grieving quiet of pain
where soft, silent
dark mists gather
to return as the sobbing rain.

The days untold
have slipped away
into the tearing violence of past
where cold, cruel
black souls gather
to return to their homelands at last

The drugs for mind
have swallowed down
into the gnawing anguish of heart
where all those medic,
masked men gather
only to rip us apart.

The words you spoke
have washed away
into the aching, yearning of void
where all the tired
love-lost gather
believing that hope is destroyed