I'm in the middle of this ocean
which seems infinitely extending.
I try to swim
even though I don't know how to,
but all I ever see is water,
and more water
surrounding me.

I'm stuck in this cycle
of trying to swim all day
only to be tossed by the waves at night,
back to square one.
It just starts all over again.

Sometimes, I think, maybe it isn't worth it
to hope that the waters will be calm
until I reach the shore.
But I always, always end up hoping,
or maybe I'm not hoping,
maybe I'm just fooling myself.

I drown sometimes,
but I still, somehow, manage to breathe again.
My lungs hurt from trying to go for air sometimes.
I guess I don't have much of a choice.
So I breathe.
And swim.
And swim some more.

Sometimes, I swim
not to reach the shore
but to go away
from the place
where this all started — the middle.
I hate being in the middle of the waters.
It doesn't feel safe.

I am lost.
I swim but I don't really know the way to the shore.

I'm not even sure if the shore even exists, anyway.

Waves that cry love,

rage within me,

crashing violently against your shore.

You hold me firmly for a second or two

Then gently, through your fingers

Let me slip through.

You know,

I will come back to you.

The stars gather across the night sky,

To witness our love

As you and I form a rhythm,

Breath against breath,

Your chest against mine,

The music of our heart beats

Synchronize.

Reaching the depths of my dark soul,

You unravel me,

Stripping each layer,

Worship me.

Unhinged by the expectations of the world,

I’ve never felt so beautifully naked

In my own skin.

I walked along a quiet shore
   and wanted not a beauty more,
when lo, behold, near rocks and sand
   a tree stood there, perfectly planned.
Its feet were buried in glistening waves.
   The sun was lapping moss and age.
Its hands and fingers watching ever
   carefully. Its break came never.
A grizzled white in bark that shines,
   an emerald green moss dressed like vines,
a deep and stalwart blue in motion
   framing ageless tree-shaped notions.
Stopping once to glance I thought
   a moment passing, freely bought,
a gift in fact when glance and glance
   became a more meditative stance.
A perspective in my mind was growing,
   deeply, newly, freshly knowing,
standing there to watch time passing,
   leaves changing, questions asking,
peaceful still with answers fleeting,
   we, the tree and I, were meeting.

she walked upon the shore
and spoke a thing of beauty
the wind whispered