Down at the Dead Sea

I tasted the Sea, it wasn’t salt,  

more like a bitter, burning flame.
So, a lake has come to be called
by a somewhat grandiose name;
and just as well I tasted a drop
because lakes and death both might be
named different from what they ought;
based on their past reality.

 

It’s rarely enough to think a thought,

each drop must be tested twice,
and I mulled them over as I walked -
the names of lakes, their taste and size;
a lagoon had somehow cut off
its lifeline to the birthing sea
and so both lakes and death might morph
beyond their size and history.

 

It’s never enough to think just once,

each thought must be tasted twice -
a drop of bitter on the tongue
on second taste gets close to nice;
meanings acquired when I was young,
as I change I must cut free,
but they persist, correct or wrong -
lakes; and death; and eternity.

 

I tried a drop, but  it was not

as I’d expected - the burn of salt
somewhere between bitter and hot
and no way of pinning the fault -
whether it’s my taste that is flawed
or that’s the truth of salinity?
All that’s certain is that I strode
down the shores of a once live sea.