I am falling apart again. I found something that keeps me grounded and its gone now and I'm floating again. Castaway. The ocean is inside my head. The waves swift and large. the water swaying side to side deeper and deeper drowning me. Unseen creatures good, bad, innocent, dark. Im being dragged down and floating away at the same time. Im drowning in this body of mine. The life line has floated away. The boat gone and I'm just drifting. Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink taking new meaning. I've been Pulled to the surface, dragged to dry land, and given a single drink of fresh water. The minute I cough out the water from my lungs, feel the sand on my finger tips, and treasure the feeling of being out of the sea, I am back where I came from. The middle of the sea, surrounded by water, haunted by uncertainty, the waves enveloping me like his arms did. Maybe I belong to the water. Maybe I never stood a chance against the mountains the land presented to me. I've found the ocean is far more predictable. The water always salty never safe to drink. The waves always coming to beat me into submission. The land however is full of empty promises and soiled expectations. The ocean someday may fall from my ears but the pain of the land will always be there.
YOU ARE READING
Whims of a weary traveler
PoetryDo you want to know my life? Do you want to read the whims of a weary traveler? Are you too a lost boy holding the pieces of his life in his hands? Read if you dare know the soul of a wanderer looking for home.
