#undertow
Heated pulse against enchanted lips,
yet the moment slips its hold on me.
I can’t resist the will of him—
but my heart begs to slow it down.
Save me from the hell I’m entering.
Touches turn into a stale corpse,
marks me with tarnished brands.
Choking spirit silently leaving—
drifting aimlessly in the undertow.
Something dies within me.
Panic enters my breath,
with nowhere to escape,
so I disappear with the darkness,
hoping for anything to make it stop.
Tears in eyes—
was that what you needed?
Stealing pieces of me,
as if collecting heartaches,
savoring each heartbeat like torn pages—
read and thrown into the fire.
Apr 18
Apr 18, 2026 at 5:21 PM UTC
---
SURFACE
Yeah… I’ve just been floating past the break,
watching the sets roll in, roll out.
Sun on my shoulders. Salt on my lips.
No rush. Ocean does what it does.
Some waves look good from far out—
clean rise, smooth face, perfect line—
then they just soften…
like they changed their mind halfway in.
No big deal.
You wait.
You watch the horizon.
You let the water tell you what’s real.
---
UNDERTOW
I have been stationed at the threshold of recurrence,
where motion rehearses itself without becoming destiny.
Each swelling crest arrives shaped like prophecy,
then dissolves into unfinished intention.
Time here is circular architecture—
expectation poured into forms that never set.
I measure patterns the way astronomers chart dying stars:
not for beauty… but for inevitability.
Patience is not serenity.
It is suspended impact.
It is gravity holding its breath.
---
SURFACE
People drift through the lineup sometimes.
New boards. Familiar faces.
Everybody reading the water their own way.
Sometimes someone paddles where you thought
your wave was forming.
Sometimes the wind messes up the face.
Sometimes the swell just… backs off.
That’s the ocean.
You don’t take it personal.
You just stay loose and keep floating.
---
UNDERTOW
But disruption is not random when it repeats.
Interference becomes structure when it learns your rhythm.
I have watched possibility approach me wearing different masks,
yet always withdrawing at the same invisible boundary.
This is not chaos.
This is choreography I was never taught—
a geometry of almost,
a theology of deferred arrival.
Even absence can develop muscle memory.
---
SURFACE
Legs getting a little tired though.
Water’s colder the longer you stay out.
Funny how waiting can feel peaceful…
until it just feels like drifting.
There’s other breaks downshore.
Different currents. Different sandbars.
Waves that actually stand up when they rise.
You don’t gotta stay in one spot forever.
---
UNDERTOW
There comes a moment when endurance becomes consent.
When remaining is indistinguishable from surrender.
When the body recognizes what the mind keeps renegotiating:
Potential is not presence.
Motion is not arrival.
Hope is not structure.
I was not designed to orbit unfinished gravity.
---
SURFACE
So yeah… if the wave comes, cool.
I’ll ride it clean, no hesitation.
But if it doesn’t—
I can always turn my board toward shore,
walk the sand,
paddle out somewhere new.
Ocean’s big like that.
---
UNDERTOW
I release the vigil without declaring defeat.
I withdraw attention from the architecture of maybe.
I choose momentum over suspension,
direction over recurrence,
depth that moves over depth that circles itself.
If something meant for me rises—
it will not require my stillness to exist.
---
TOGETHER
The water is wide.
The horizon is honest.
And I am both the one who waits…
and the one who decides when waiting ends.
Feb 23
Feb 23, 2026 at 9:26 AM UTC
It's shallow here, with
an undertow, I'm falling --
The buoy starts spinning.
Aug 8, 2024
Aug 8, 2024 at 2:02 AM UTC
The soul is full of criteria, mysteries
And your eyes,
Your eyes are undertow,
Drawning me in.
Nov 20, 2020
Nov 20, 2020 at 9:22 PM UTC
It’s astrology.
Read the stars
in my eyes
Hand me the key
And I’ll chain my own wrists
Slipping in and out
Of our own lives
Like shadows.
I can’t breathe underwater.
In the darkness
I reflect the sky
In the midst of this war
I’m sacrificial
It’s written on my face
And the palms of my hands
My fortune
The belief I will save you
My eyes are tired
But you can see me
Dreaming your dreams,
Drifting in the undertow.
Everything has changed.
I’ll drown under these grey skies
A kiss of life
Under the weight of the world
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 5:28 PM UTC
Poetic minds are islands often found
In common reaches of the status quo
And in remote and deeper waters
Of vox humana in muted undertow.
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 11:57 AM UTC
While the heavens wept
I gasped for air beneath the
Waters where I lay
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 11:29 PM UTC
i’d like to be out in the sea
i’d be on a wave
jumping over top
waiting for the crash
avoiding the undertow
i’d doing like i did as a kid
i’d soak up the sun
and play in the sand
just enjoying
the ocean breeze
and the ocean view
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
it's strange
to see a river spring into being
violently churning
but without sound
to see sticks and even trees swept away down its length
but not feel its current's tugging pull
you wonder whether the river is real
or nothing but an imagined torrent
but the waves lapping at your feet cannot lie
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 4:54 PM UTC
First the sun
Warm and gold
Then the wind
Swift and bold
Of all that I know
Little I remember; little I behold
Fearing it is my last... I gasp for breath.
A scent like no other
Fills my emptied soul
Memories flood into me
Like a perilous undertow
A wave catches me
And carries my soul
I am full again.
Wonder pulsates through my veins
Living is no longer in vain
Blood warms my extremities
Chasing fond memories
Once again, I begin
For the moment, I am
I see... I breathe... I believe.
For the moment, no end
To stop me
No fear to paralyze
No wounds to hide
A moment of peaceful bliss
All tears subside
I will let this wave carry me.
I don't fight the current
I let it take me
where it wants
Not out of bravery
But from my addiction
To wonder... and clarity
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
If I met you 20 years ago
I would not even lay my eyes on you
But I could
Picture the younger you with me
Easily
I frown on
Your 80's acid shirt, Kenny G hair
But I can still trace the image of you between your brows
Unswerving eyes and lips
If I met you 20 years ago
You would had fallen for me
I am so sure, because your eyes tell me
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC