The Deep

Along comes everything from the past,

Like they were meant to be inspired,

With the saline, sea-spray,

Bursting at the touch of the shored rocks.

 

What’s meant to be an unchaperoned saunter,

Isn’t one anymore.

But the footprints are now in absentia,

Even though I walk hand in hand with the memories.

 

The moon pulls, with its might,

Intimidating, unnerving spring tides,

Maybe they are the cause,

For the nonexistence of the footprints.

 

These tides are so heavy,

Groaning with broken down pride,

And overpowering, undeserving agonies,

Pulling the rug from beneath me!

 

Like the infinity of the ocean,

I can no longer tell the beginning from the end!

I try to toss a bottle with a sanguine message for myself,

So there’s a ray of hope when the tides lash it back to me!