The water

Yet more scratchings from my pad, this one was written on a fairly long bus journey in some pretty torrential rain, if you couldn't already guess.

the waters rising fast
at least we're on the top floor of this bus
where no water can touch us
or pretend to purify
our sins, or our saints
we're safe up here
let no one tell us otherwise
unless the bus topples
and into the water we go
washed away with the dirt
and the other remnants of a long forgotten life.

I wish I was cleaner
purer of thought
purer of action
but all is past now the water is at our feet
you can smell the sin coming from them.
but at least our sin was accidental
born out of our lust for living
and not from our disgrace for nature
and for nurture.

the water is now at my eyes
all is nothing
nothing surrounds us
leaving us in the crushing black deafness
that we must suffer through
or conquer.