Fish in an aquarium

[tonywalt]

Fish move without urgency,
fins making their small negotiations
with space. Light arrives from nowhere,
a pale authority humming above,
convincing enough to be believed.

Walls are everywhere but never felt—
a transparency so complete
it erases the idea of boundary.
Pebbles stay obedient.
This is a finished world,
self-contained, endlessly repeated.

Most fish accept this.
They trace their routes, memorize corners,
inherit the calm like a rule of physics.

But some flash against the pattern—
flickers of red, brief gold insistences—
testing the surface as if it were a question.

Once in a while one breaks the sentence,
clears the edge, discovers air
is not what it imagined.

Morning reveals the cost:
a small, impossible body
stiff with astonishment,
eyes wide open.

What kind of god does this?

[tailor STATELY]

Enjoyed very much

A poem which ends with how God allows free will... there are consequences we can't choose ofttimes to our actions that seem unfair to the casual observer. We all die. The fish, which may have lived but a short time in a blissful captivity anyway, now lives on with eternal life in my understanding

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor