As Published in the Scarlet Review Literary Magazine
The Ocean There’s a roar That comes with waves crashing. Overwhelming—that music Of the billow, of that Brine filled mass Ceaselessly clashing With the surface. A surface on which Humans rest, Humans lodge, Humans watch The push and pull through Long glass windows And listen Through circadian cycles While they dream. Imagine living in it—in that crash, Feeling the collision, Being a small fish Free from the enigmas of the deep, yet By unfortunate chance, Floating too close to land, too close To man. My, how it’d hurt To be stuck In the wavering flux Of the sand. But, oh, to see it! To hear it! To be Enthralled By it! Captured by it! Absorbed By how dangerously The currents cling To the beaches; made modest By The unnerving power Of the tides. And oh, to listen to it Like a poem, like a song, Like a spirit of the Universe Claiming back it’s woe Through that roar, Through that passion And to be Completely void Of its wrath; To be only right beyond, Just a few feet removed From such a Peaceful pain; To be safe, viewing a sunrise On the offing With a sister, with a lover, With a book about romance In hand. Wow, how small the moon looks! A mere skull Of the earth, But how big its reflection On the waves… There must be a reason I’m alive— I see it, I see it right at the horizon.
