The Fountain

The fountain shrugs his massive white shoulders
Ceaseless tremors ripple across his body
In frothy waves
He lets loose a roaring, gurgling mass of water into a stone basin
Shuddering with the cold
Forever trying to shake off the frigid waves in vain
Wrinkling and shriveling downward
In the same endless pattern of self-destruction
His body trembles violently and swells in all directions
Sickly pale and ashen-faced
A surging mass of foaming ivory
He undulates in a series of pain jerks
Toward the cold marble floor of his prison
The never-ending circle of his cursed life
The fountain is born of an icy womb beneath the earth
Released into this world for a fraction of a second in which he babbles and writhes
Fighting death, and clinging to life with frosty fingers
Before he is plunged back into the musty earth once more
Tortured with a fleeting existence
To be reborn once more from the sodden wreckage