Whet Stones

With withering glances

and accentuated romances

with weather both clear and gray

With water so clear

we're left unsure if

the water is there or its not.

With wetter sand

between toes and hands

that stops the tide coming in.

With wonderful houses

made of things we found

laying by the side of the road.

Withholding the air from my lungs

as I breath in the carbon monoxide.

Wonder where have I wondered within

my waxed, and watershed mind.

With whet stones

all standing in line with nothing

but dampened sand keeping them in place.

With world bending

monsters that keep

you in disgrace.

Without wanting

to sound like a cretin

I'd like to interject here

With so many different

colours of opinion

I have to wonder why we're here.

So withhold all the oxygen from my lungs

while the water drips down.

I still have to wonder what will happen

with all this air could I drown?