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Jun 2014
Oh, these dark, dismal waters
calling me to their murky depths.
The upheaval of their amnestic tides
seemingly yearning to drag me
     down into its cold, unrelenting grip.

How I try to stay afloat--
it's incredible,
     the struggle
of a man endeavored
to live to see cleaner horizons.

I take a deep breath,
     before I go under.
Will it be all that I braced for?
Or will it be a Hell
I could never have begun to comprehend?

The uncertainties that cloud my vision
beg to become realizations.
Abstractions, in a world of ambiguities.
And the rip tides--oh, how they do just that--
     are ripping me to pieces.

I think I remember
calmer waters,
brighter skies,
     but the despondency I am drowning in,
has all but washed the past away.

Even now as I breathe,
     I feel myself being flooded,
faulted through betraying beacons--
a lighthouse itself, gone rogue.

What is a man to do?
Lost at sea, with no way to be?
How is he to remedy
what he himself has come to see
as a hapless atrocity?
Frank Ruland
Written by
Frank Ruland  25/M/Virginia Beach, Virginia
(25/M/Virginia Beach, Virginia)   
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