he is
a tidal wave
sweeping in
with debris
and salt

eventually
to be washed up
on the shore
was preferable
to being dashed
upon the rocks

but the fear
of drowning
under his waves
lungs filled
with his sin
and silt
blood
and bile

lips bloodied
bones bending
tears falling
heart broken

infants crying
run aground
the past thrown
into the present

churned and swelled
the sea bed
giving up
it's dead

the glorious dead
of yesterday

i found
i could swim
while
he lay upon the shore
in his own torment
waiting to be saved
woe is him

he is
a tidal wave
sweeping in
and out
with salt
and debris
sin and silt

I was content being the vessel.

Your absence has gone through me like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with a color.

















Red...