Little by little I'm learning to swim
In this silent ocean made of endless drops
A drop, a memory, a fragment of myself
They surround each stroke, as I hope not to stop

The moment I stop, I'll slowly begin to sink
Deeper and deeper, struggling for air
Engulfed by dark waters I've tried to avoid
The pressure so high, it's something I can't bare

So little by little I'm learning to swim
Each stroke taking me farther, making me feel new
As I aim for the horizon of ocean yet to come
A single drop rains down, filled with a thought about you

One drop, that's all it takes, to disrupt my calm sea
Small ripples turn into waves steadily drawing near
Pushing me back under, with each passing ring
Each filled with you, who once brought me cheer

Little by little I'm learning to swim
We used to float together, exploring hand in hand
Now alone in this ocean I keep pushing forward
Hoping to see a new joy, waving from warm sand

As the meadowlark
Singing after fresh spring rain
Poets need the same

©  2017 Jim Davis

You talk so lightly
Like fresh air in fog,
You were my vision
Through absolute blindness.

You were the world
That revolved around me,
You made me fill in gaps
That were missing inside.

You made me feel
Like nothing mattered,
When you had me,
If you'll have me.

But you made me crash
In the fog that I tried wandering,
You made the world crumble and fall
Beneath and above these walls.

You made me feel
Like nothing mattered,
But nothing did matter
Anymore when you left.

I'm still shaking and crawling
These walls that disappear
Around my feet and heart,
As I look below I see emptiness.

As I fall into a never ending drop
Of uncertainty I look back up
But hold my arms towards you
So you can catch me as I go.

But you only caught the fingertips,
Of my love.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul*
It read, a dove caught and crucified
Over two pages whole

And a woman who held a babe against her ***** said, "Speak to us of
Children."

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit,
not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you
with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that
is stable.

They didn't need the sea
nor words
but a ploy to escape
their own dulled image
familiar faces and spaces
weary conversations
a place away
where the mind rested
and silence filled the cracks
healed the holes
to a whole
contented in being there
in the room for two
counting day's pick
smelling dead shells
feeling sea in their cells
and when the night was high
surrendering to sleep.