The waters are calling me and I can’t seem to move.
The waters are shouting my name but I can’t begin to voice a sound.
I long for the waters to wash over me.

To wake me up.

The waters are calling my name and I can’t seem to respond.

The waters are calling and I’m asleep.
The waters are shouting and I’m numb.

I dream of oceans welcoming me in.
I dream of oceans washing over me.


The waters will stop calling my name and I will be gone.
The waters will stop shouting.

I will stop dreaming.

I’m way too deep in the quick sands of the dessert to ever hear the ocean calling my name.
I will build monuments high enough for you to see.
I will build sand castles until you reach me.


The oceans are howling my name once again.
The oceans will never hear the cry of the wolf within.

i guess the window of opportunities
just shut close,
leaving me with no air to breathe,
but just my thoughts and i

missing you is like
resisting the urge to shave my head

Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.

Once you ask for advice
And get no answer
It is silent guidance
Filtered by experience