Category: Writers Block
White water boils,
roling in frothy waves around me,
like ever swirling whipped cream,
turning on pivetal points of revelation.
The ocean of every mind,
eternal and ever-changing,
ever cyclic in its thought patterns,
ever perfect in some ways.
The bottom seemingly lost forever beneath the roiling waves of thought
Somewhere deep below the surface,
the water is unruffled.
Here is where I sink,
to face my inner self.
unbridled emotion attacks from all sides,
the fish that I fight with hands and feet.
They mock me,
their cruel voices penetrting and cutting deep.
I sink down lower,
my feet and face burning from the salt.
I am now in solitude,
the silence soothing in its simplicity.
Tenderly, slowly,
the darkness within unfurrels her arms to embrace me,
my mind relaxing into herself,
her long fingers of pain and sadness wrapping around and tightening like a vice.
I feel her, I embrace her, allowing her to touch me,
never forgetting those I lost.
I do not hear them calling me,
until someone touches my physical self.
The shore seems far away,
though to it I do swim.
Inside myself she waits,
her shawl of night ready for me once more.
Very interesting.
Why is the ocean fimine?
Bob
Uh, I don't get it.