Beneath the Olive Pond

A casual afternoon walk that leads

all those broken steps from our home,

away to that quiet little olive pond,

there I let my daydreams slowly sink

and watch them disappear without a sound.

I have spent countless hours ruminating

how every last one of my wishful thinking

would crest above those jaded waters,

just before the weight of its grandeur

drags me down with it to that abyss.

Then I would lay there, still as a rock,

with my idle mind anchored between

the need to belong and a desire to escape

all these mundane masquerades

misconstrued as magic make-believes.

I wonder if you’ve found yourself

often down those broken steps,

searching for answers to justify

a fleeting feeling of fancy

that eat away at your existence.

Only to throw them all away

and watch as they deftly disappear,

quiet beneath the olive pond

where everything unspoken sleeps,

restless beyond the naked eyes.