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Whirlpool

Rosemary Jenkins: This thick, viscous pool of white stagnancy had remained untouched for epochs. Claiming untainted purity, it tried to overwhelm the world with a fallacious strength--a strength permitted to endure because of the insecurity and fear of itself and others.

This thick, viscous pool of white stagnancy had remained untouched for epochs.

Whirlpool

Claiming untainted purity,
it tried to overwhelm the world with a fallacious strength--
a strength permitted to endure
because of the insecurity and fear
of itself and others.

But at some magical, mysterious point this pool and others
took on anthropomorphic qualities--
no longer inanimate but full of life and energies,
brimming with contrary senses seeking any available outlet,
undulating in a confused,
sometimes hostile, sometimes friendly manner. . . .

Yet going through all the motion which ought to have propelled it forward,
this body remained constantly as it was--
sick and pale and weak.

But next to this force was a black body--visceral and strong,
swept up by the tides of hate
(because all things hate that which they do not understand),
washed ashore, buffeted by an alien environment.

Every effort was made to obliterate that dark mass of strangeness,
but where it was repressed in one place, it rose up ever stronger in another--
quick, alert, resilient, durable.

Denied its identity, it yet persevered;
subtle, almost unnoticed movement, became volcanic eruptions.
At length the two bodies met. . . .
They pushed and pulled and tore into each other.
The pools bled terribly and as much as they tried,
they could not prevent the fluid
from their wounds from flowing together.

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The onrush was frightening;
the union, amazing--
the darker fluid spilling over the lighter,
the colors swirling violently.

But gradually the mixture turned grey and then black;
the white was gone from sight.
One seemed to hear a horrible cry of pain.

And yet occasionally white bubbles appeared as islands amidst the dark waters.
The effect was lyrical--
the sea of color seemed to become warm and vibrant.

The tidal waves of terror subsided into both a harmonious blending to the visual senses
and a pleasant chorus to the ears.

And when one now looks, there is no black or white.

An inseparable union of forces has emerged--
real yet beautiful;
soft but vital;
distinct units melting into juxtaposition.

At peace at last!

Rosemary Jenkins