Like the waters of a tide
Life swells and ebbs in moments
Of clarity
Lost in tangles of confusion
And frustration
As clear as the foggy lakeshore
On a stormy night

When the waves rose up behind you,
And began to drag you away,
I threw every piece of me out to keep you afloat,
I couldn't let you die,
I would sooner rip myself to shreds to save you,
But when those vicious currents came after me,
The undertow swept me away,
And you just watched,
You were too scared of the water to help me,
I understood why,
No one had ever been willing to possibly drown for me,
I just thought you were different...

The trick with flaming hot Cheetos
Is to eat all that you want 
Before you drink any water.

If you eat some, and then drink,
And then eat some more,
Your stomach will be an ocean 

With breakers crashing to and fro
On the banks of your inner shores.
It will not feel nice, so make sure

To follow this advice; for I am, when
It comes to Cheetos, an old man who
Has for learned from my many years 

Of eating one way, and eating the other.
And I have found the better of the two,
So heed my authority.

"I am lost." She said,
"You can't be, you were like the guiding star." He argued.
"I was, but then you came along
Your questions, like a moon, raised tides in the calm seas of my soul,
but your presence
calmed those thrashing waves,
and in the stillness of the moment,
i got lost at the shore of your heart !!" She sighed.

Isn't it sad, how the waves in the ocean build themselves up to crash against one another and then subside... How they meet only for a second and then die?

We, three children,
bound by that gossamer of a weaving.
Oh, Mama’s moon.
“I’ll cook one for each of you, my triumvirate.”

“One I give to you, my Oldest”.
She clasps it to her heart.
The tide rises,
men fall.

“To you Middle One, this.”
She tinkers the heart that made it.
The world bleeds,
men fall.

What of mine?
To oblivion it is: I will stash.
I, Older than my grandmother, and to her.
But Oblivion’s easy,  a fish caught mine.

Mama sung, we slept.
“Hush, my dear triumvirate, tomorrow
we’ll cook again.”
Crescent smiles formed our lips.
Three moons, crushed to smithereens;
And so was her sanity, and ours.

I am a prisoner to the outside .
I am never getting in .
I am flowing with the gentle tide
That does not flow within .

You keep me here ,
Never letting me free
Not even when I shed the tears
You will never ever see

I remain on the outside ,
Never getting out .
No matter how much I've tried ,
You will never hear me shout .

Although my cries are silent .
My thoughts run deep ,
My eyes are a red tint ,
My eyes tired of , weep .

I observe from the outside .
Freedom is what I will never gain .
I am drowning in the gentle tides .
A prisoner I will remain .

She tips the toppling tide,
lavish underbelly of an albatross,
and how she rides.

Each wave washing
its imposing self to shore,
more, glorious more,
this gasping February seashore.

Tufts of feathers flutter
and dune grasses dance muster,
must hold ons,
this rallying of  the determined.
Grace notes, song of nature swim in.
Melody of gull, harmonious tension
broken.

Her flight brings tears. She is gone.
Will she weather? For now perhaps,
but not long.