The soul of a writer is as tormented as the clash of tides in the sea.
There is an ongoing battle between what is right and what is wrong.
The writer's mind experiences an unexplainable turmoil of raging emotions.
There is no escape from the cages that surround the heart except for writing... writing till the words bleed with truth.
Till the colour of the ink becomes the colour of their soul.

you can drown in the ocean
but people still flock to the beach
mostly when it's sunny
not so much when the sky is filled with clouds
or when a storm is brewing
but the ocean
it stays the same
the tide will come to the edge of the pier
and back down again
though the passion and strength of the waves changes
from forces sent from god to the gentlest whitecap kiss
rain or shine i'll stay with my feet in the water
pull me down if you want to

The universal path is a windy link
in reflections it bounces in dryness
the wood wounded with unknown
phases tainted with fists that hints

The bareness of the desert lays untold
roasted and unbroken in resistive dunes
torn and un-tuned in the rusty mirage
bareness reformed by the scorning sun

See those hungry eyes digging in hilled sands
the lost hope lusting for a love swayed to last
memories of the crux, the faded in between
the withering leaves burnt to grimy coal

The tidal waves erupts as pure bliss builds
such loneliness buried in ocean depths
kneeling at the mercies of the greenery
pending rejuvenation to harmonious trance

On the edge of the bridge toes tiptoeing
the cord unfurling in, over and within
waters paints in hues of silverly blue
a sacrifice to reign in the depths of the shore

(G)
Life as a burden is decent
Treading in hatched up waterways
Swimming in the green brine ebbing tides
Drowned in emotive stances
A being intensified in rapid torrents
Ohh my…fickleness soaked in curiosity

(J)
Decent sounds pretty substantial
I lay acquainted to swampy lowlands
My footsteps have tasted salty waters
Stepped, wadding inside the muddy landscape
Inch by inch, halfway, fully submerged
Overloaded by the tide gasping for oxygen

(G)
Populaces catwalk with intellectual deficit
Footsteps bereft of creativity and eloquence
The grounds lay dry strangling the in-between
The desert begging to lose their sandy dry skin
The forest whispers with a revolt of transformation
The luscious green splash life sparking drones

(J)
Your analogy sways the natured array of trees
The inspiration stings the sun to radiate warmth
All patched in the blueness of bellowing skies
My lungs deflate even on intense inhalation
I tarmac on the passage of time, differently wired
Intermittently cyanosed in faded lived moments

(G)
For poetry and art scaffolds and shapes reality
It sparks life and eliminates the drone mentality
Artists arouse inspiration and boost human nature
It bridges the narrowing ledge of ( human diversity/ instead of/ diverse species)
It drives conversation and deepens basic pleasantries
Rotating notions, promoted to a present and active human

(J)
I object not, for human essence is essential
A foundation of humanity that inspires and frees
A deed that dips in the depth of a lush oasis
Most sunk and waving “a celebration of celebrities”
Falsified lionization, a control of master puppeteer
Amused by insight, the reciprocal contract of empathy

G= Graff1980
J=SassyJ

The dark corridor did nothing
But intensify her gaze

I could tell my eyes were so transparent,
She could see through me

With her glass eyes

Wading; feeling the tides come in and go,
just as my good and bad days, you know?
Bad days leave a taste in my mouth, as the ocean water brushes my lips.
Bad days leave me feeling like any progress that was made swimming through the depths, eventually sweep me back farther than I initially started.
Good days leave me feeling like I could swim forever, admiring the horizon and beautiful life given to me.
There are days when I feel like I finally grasped solid ground, and I am able to pull myself back to shore, only to be fooled by this wondrous mind and its clever ways.
But like the tides, it comes and it goes, waiting again for it to cycle, waiting for the chance to escape and get away from the tides that bind.