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"Existence is an ocean."



The body is a vessel, this life is a sea.

God brings the winds that fill its sails,

But it's captain is only me.

Other ships may come and fire against us

My crew may plot a mutiny,

If succeed they do, and if I lose

My ship goes down with me.



No one else will tell me how,

Or why, or what, or when.

Till the sea swallows us up,

And it's waters birth us anew.

Till I say good bye, the final time,

And sail those seas again.
I wrote this in 2015, it is one of my first poems. Here is the foreword.

We as human beings are in control of our minds and especially our destination on the voyage of existence. They can fire cannons against you, strip away your flesh, break you down, but nobody can take away who you are(your souls identity, your consciousness) because that is beyond the physical world and their reach. You cannot measure or catalog someones thoughts, you can measure the electrical activity of the brain itself, but you cant measure the content of what the electrical activity is producing. So I believe when we are swallowed up by the end of what we think is existing, the universe(ocean) absorbs our conscious existence back into itself and recycles that energy(our souls) back out again
As I lay dying, I cling to this life,
Everything in it—
The pain and the strife,
The heartbreak, the sorrow—
Always knowing I can start over tomorrow.  

As I lay dying, I feel too much regret.
Frantic and panicked, what did I expect?
If I had moved to the right, but I went to the left.
As my life leaves me, I wade toward the shore,
But it’s no matter anymore;
The big sleep’s knocking at my door.
When a tree falls in the forest,

is it heard by the stone?

As it whispers to the grass,

one last and final groan.

Does the moss cradle it's dying branches,

While creeks and rivers stop their flow?

Or does it die as it lived?

still and silent, all alone.
Life is but a song of sorrows,
Days can feel like miserable melodies.
Our heartstrings plucked,
Chords that resonate with tragedy.  

The beating drum, a dark percussion,
Can serve as rhythm to the chorus of our love and joy.
That which is memorized by heart,
In every generation, the song is sung.  

In every life, a note is played—
Lows entwined with our highest moments,
Giving credence to suffering,
Unifying our spirits in a grand orchestra,  

Composing a symphony of our very soul.
Wandering, searching for the wind,
An empty vessel, lost and adrift.
Steering toward a forgotten destination,
To a place that deals only in absolutes;
Where rain and storm dare not cloud our path.  

When we wake from the slumber of darkest nights,
There is glory in the redemption of dawn,
Rising anew to embark on a sacred descent,
As it crescendos in majestic golden hues,
Hypnotic, dissolving into the horizon
I measured my madness,
Subtracted any sanity
Divided by calamity
And what was left, didn't add up.
haste the winds of change
Which blow with the sands of time.
Eroding the stone inscribed with the epitaph of humanity.
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