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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

The Flood

It is time I thought
as the rain kept falling As the water crept
through the doors of my house.
As my garden slowly disappeared
under a flood.
Time to end my journey
as the storm obliterated
the roads and streets
where I walked.
Time to be quiet in the wail
of the wind,
for people to stop their chatter,
for engines to end their metallic
dogs their barking at strangers.

But why, why, I thought
as the water rose
covering the turmoil of the living and dead,
and silence replied, without expression,
it is time.
And as I waded through the water,
trying to keep above it,
drowning inch by inch,
I cried with grief, and anger, and fear.

Then I woke,
throwing off the terror of my sleep,
hearing the beat of rain
on the window,
the trickle of water in the gutters.
And my heart raced,
as the rain filled me.
As it rose from my toes
to ceilings undreamed of
above my head,
indifferent to the tears
of my catastrophe.

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