Again and again
The again fatigue.
The ache of it.
I’ve taken my surfing board to sea
too many times to count,
trying to master these waves
that never seem to cease.

They keep on coming.
Crashing.
Breaking.
Unrelenting.

But I...
I keep getting up.
Crying, trying,
Again and again.

Fatigued.
Tired.
Exhausted.
There must’ve been meaning
to the waves I crossed,
to the rage I dared to face.
Surely they meant something!

But they don't stop.
Not yet.
And neither do I.

Because maybe...
maybe I was never meant to master the sea.
Maybe I was born to dance with it.
To laugh in the face of the tide.
To scream and fall and rise like fire
Not to win,
but to become.

Maybe it was never about what others had
but what I’ve carried,
what I’ve kept,
what I refused to let go of
even when it nearly cost me everything.

Maybe it’s okay to fall.
To lose my balance.
To crack open.
To come undone
in the arms of the ocean
and still find myself whole.

And maybe...
just maybe
the waves will always come.

But I will rise.
Again.
And again.
And again.

Until peace meets me
not when the waters calm
but when I know
I was the storm all along.

I shall sea tomorrow.
Again and again.
But this time,
I will have fun.

VERY SLOWLY
How many years have drifted by,
Time rushes swiftly on.
And I, at times, pause myself,
So very slowly I go,
And in myself get lost.
Very slowly,
I take my time,
To lose myself,
Within my being,
Deep in thought.
I take my pause,
So very softly,
I look and listen,
I lose myself within,
Cease thinking,
And only feel,
That beating heart,
That soul,
That throbs,
That feels,
And I forget,
Of everything, no more.
I turn to me,
And let myself just sleep,
Within those dreams.
Sometimes I read verses,
So very softly,
Just as I like it.
Very calm,
I stop my clock,
And rest.

Life is loss, pain
You move on, push past it
You write subroutines to deal
To ease, to distract, to bypass
Again and again until
You are more subroutine
Than you are yourself
And you wonder
At what point did pain
Become more relevant
To life
Than living?

Listen to the sound
of a butterfly
flying by

Feel the wind
from a bumblebee's buzzing

Clouds in the sky
The endless artwork

When the world grows
too loud or too fast,
it’s a good idea
to take a step back
and huddle away
into an empty space
where neither sound
nor time
can hurt you,

let silence envelop
your soul—not your self.

Eventually
the grass will grow
and the wind will settle,
all will slow
like in a lush meadow,

and far away
will the struggle drift.

The sky will grow white
with clouds that never rain,
gardens will grow green
without a single ****,

the sun will beat down
not bullets but care,
that nurtures the grass blades
through growth
and lifts the vapour into
the air.

Dimensions and galaxies will
pause,
for the universe cannot
feed.

And all will be.