As the waters broke above to find me in a sea of love, an ending though beginning where creation is the spectre, and the loneliness of death appeared, flowing gently on these lips which arched for tastes of summer mornings but the shadows overruled me in their wanting and their wisdom,
I swim alone.
When night is but the journey, it matters not the destinations, creation and its spectres follow me through unlit carriages and lights are set to blind me with the countenance of sorrow but this man knew sorrow many moons ago.
Each stroke brings me much nearer to the strobe lights in the garden and if nights are never ending, tell me why the lights are blinding me, is this the sea I set sight on one bright and early morning,
all alone?
So
I live or die and end it or begin it and go through it, the difference being the journey and the knowing how to do it, when the waters break above me and I find that I am swimming with the tide.