The wave never ends,
Instead it breaks
A thousand times;
Sometimes so many in a moment
That opaque waters multiply,
And the sea turns blank
With far horizons of white-on-white.
And the moment's calm
Sat besides unbroken walls
Of white colts charging;
Sent off on unknown courses;
To far-off lives and places,
In lands that lie so distant,
That not a part of you
Will touch them,
When the wave-ranks break -
Deep oceans bloom like retina,
And tell you something's waiting -
Something's drawing in the darkness -
Calling to whoever loves it
To fall between the breakers,
And land beyond their memory
In a place with no waves marching.
And then the trick;
The fall doesn't end;
And life is stuck
Between the depths and the deserts,
Where the waves are ever waiting
To spread like glass on deepening oceans,
Or force the united death of motion,
And leave us waiting on the surf
And waiting for the break
That will cut the long horizon
And our visions of wave and wake.
Stood there watching the endless water
Carried by the wind to wash over his shoes
The sound of the waves killing every thought in his head
Leaving the one he wanted gone most
It was too loud for the sound of the waves to kill
He stuffed his pockets and let it kill him instead.
Soft sand and hot beaches,
Wild winds and beach balls,
Towels and sun tan lotions.
A little girl as old as six,
Kicking up broken shells and sticks.
Wind-blown sand ripped across her bare ankles,
Hair a mess,
Full of tangles.
Squishing sand between little toes,
Little miss curious with cheeks of rose.
A toothy grin turned up to the sun,
Laughter ringing through the crowd,
A mother calling out, "Go have fun!"
Long dark hair bouncing through the crowd,
Skipping back to the shore,
Smiling faces all around.
Suppressed memories of a little girl the age of six,
A mind to fix.
dark blue washes over me, blindingly blue paint covers my soul
and wets my irises and penetrates my pores so azure so cyan
my heart is a lump of obsidian rock pumping tar and ashes in indigo veins
chaotic brain so so charcoal with broken pastel scribbles
and Indian ink calligraphy death notes tarnish the white papers and
darkness shrouds my face like a woolly scarf on an asthmatic thermophobe
suppressing and suffocation... I'm suffocating under the weight
It drags me down and I discover the grey that is invincible and
I flail out of control external force metamorphoses to internal anguish
and the floor feels homely or fit for a misanthropic tearful sleep
or do we simply assume to understand each other inconsiderately
when we hide so much from even ourselves for fear of being discovered
and disturbed in our instability and oh that edge looks attractive
but so does the noose so significantly symbolic but I walk a line
and tumble out of acrobatics, circus tent closing in with psychedelic stripes
on my harlequin painted face barely blinking it'll simply never end and
it snakes around a Modigliani throat like a koala to a tree it holds tight
an Aivazovsky moon beams down on turbulent waters gleaming
and rippling with a flirt so alluring so alluring I gasp in awe
My lies are smashing through to appeal to your traumatic design
My truth your utter destruction and faith's demise and it lasts
tethered truly and surely like a giant beast you believe tame
but not enough so because it's impossible to kill all free thought
control is what you want and I laugh in your face like I'm okay
but I just want to dive and float away to some distant land
where ethereal dreams take us to the moon and beyond
freedom no longer an impossible whisper in the dead of night
dare not let the oppressor hear us or see us crack and splinter
spoiled and unsuited for this lifestyle so hollow, plastic and fragile
eternal torture you promised me if I tried but my mortal life alone
fulfills those standards and I'll tear your heirloom ideals apart
with a rage greater than Jupiter's unearthly storms and scream
you won't you won't you won't you won't you won't you won't
I will leave... through the front door or the bordered back window
I will have my freedom and taste the succulent air of day
not in spite or scorn, that's so you, I don't think that way.
I'm not vengeful I think only of the ether
Someday, somehow, today, never but why wait when
there's such an easy solution that doesn't involve
moving majestic mountains and burning down inhabited jungles
why wait when it is simply a matter of indifference
the only way out is directly through, no useless foolery
I welcome the sea, the raging ocean, the blistering desert,
the eternal moon over a defiant forest on a glacial mountain peak
Gazing down, staring with concern and never judging
Because what is there to judge but inevitable so-called sin?
From the cliff's edge
you can watch the earth move.
Hover over the waters
and see how the Spirit blows
and broods. The sea
and all its creatures still crash
and tumble and return
to their deep silences.
The sun rises and sinks
below the waves. The curved
ocean clings to earth’s edge,
obedient, except where
something urges it upward.
The voice that calls
forth the mountains and summons
pelicans and wild geese
says to all things, Rise.
Consent to the upward urge
that calls you out of gravity
into the welter of heat and sound
and color that will not stay,
that you do not own, but may
have for a day, and then
for a night when it falls.
if the ocean would carry me
it'll collapse under the weight of my bones
made with cement and steel
and the burden each brick owns
witness the waves howler and scream
just like the heart caged in my chest
blood bubbling around the muscle
surging with every beat and protest
the bottom of the sea may be quiet
like my tongue folded neatly in my mouth
though feral beasts deep within
choke with pressure more than i can count
the ocean and i are seperate
both flowers from different gardens
one ephemeral, one wilting before your eyes
but both's head tilting up to the heavens
sorrowful eyes, swirling, storm awakening
chaos mingling betwixt water and blood
ravid souls in dire need of feeding
cursed and blessed by god
i wonder if i could carry the ocean
within just the corners of my palm
i and the ocean - we are one
a catastrophe after the calm
A breath of fresh air,
is your kiss.
Your title wave crashes
upon my distant shore,
as my winds blow
towards your foaming roll,
I am caught in between
your crashing tides.
Our passionate embrace
leaving us with unspoken words,
and meaningful structure,
it builds a foundation
that can hold up to
our chaotic emotions.
© By Amanda Shelton