To water
O water! Thou art deceiving
from your gentle flow
to the streams of your undying
existance thats fights tomorrow.
I stand, and you cover my body
with your clean, mineralised, firm hands
hands that work its way
from my head downwards-where it lands
at my feet, now cold
with your presence, so alive.
You are clean, but you mold
fresh stains that in me dive
deceiveing me into believing
how pure and chaste you are.
The word goes, "shower, its relaxing"
yet it brings much affair.
I wonder how you always
deceive me into believing
that alls fine, and my ways
are good in absorbing
isolated coldness, bringing sorrow
yet no matter how much you stain me
I will return to you tomorrow
to be decieved again- but thats how it is.
