Lone whales, clinging to the edge of the ocean
As they fall, their tears become pearls,
feeding the clams and making the oysters jealous.
The winds become waves of apathy
agonizing and obscure as life itself.
Resentment drives sailors to scurvy,
they are plundering their own souls!
And as the tides rise with the moon,
time turns back on itself, and we are free.
Potent with ideas of how to exist,
but to whom do we belong?
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 12:06 AM UTC
Lone whales, clinging to the edge of the ocean
As they fall, their tears become pearls,
feeding the clams and making the oysters jealous.
The winds become waves of apathy
agonizing and obscure as life itself.
Resentment drives sailors to scurvy,
they are plundering their own souls!
And as the tides rise with the moon,
time turns back on itself, and we are free.
Potent with ideas of how to exist,
but to whom do we belong?
