I, the pond.

I, the pond
Sit like a shimmering mirror,
Life thrives within my waters,
Plants grow upon my edges.

Gentle hands pullout weeds,
Tend to my tempered waters,
Running like a blood from fresh supply,
Pooling in my body to refresh.

But hands soon leave,
Waters forgotten
Summer heat I crack and dry
Bair and slime covered as algae blooms.

Choking fish and dried up plants,
Litter the little water I,
The pond, has remaining.

Clinging vainly to the beauty I once held,
Waters shimmering weekly in the setting sun,
Tomorrow maybe tomorrow,
Hands will return.

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Vicious' poems