I see myself through the reflection of waves-
Flowing through me in concave whirlpools-
I had lost it all too soon.
It is high tide this afternoon.
My house was as alive as a festival-
My backyard a scared beach;
My love an iron mantle to place my belongings-
They were gone within a week.
I traversed many a gateway, many steps I took-
Though lungs breathe air they can slam shut-
The air was the flourishing of a life, nearly thirty-
My love left me on the beach, no air could be inhaled-
The verdict on the causation of this nightmare, not reached-
I reach to the sun but it does not shine anymore.
I lay a hand-made casket on the shore, and confide,
In birds and plants- I am too scared to tell the truth;
To anyone real. I have done many things wrong.
I mount my casket, strong, eyes open wide, at high tide.
It is so peculiar how things can fall apart;
It is this strange happening, this unnamed ill-
When you strive for so long but there is nothing there-
To tell you of your struggle, beware-
You may have loved someone for so long-
Had a home and a beach, and people would come along-
And sing you songs of what it meant to be happy and free-
And you make one mistake, you make a sudden leap-
As I had done, one night during one week-
When high tide reached it peak.
“But I am not happy anymore,”
Then sit and rot in my house-
I will have mistress in and out;
I will pay our taxes and give them to the collectors-
And maintain a stable atmosphere, here, dear-
Take this parting gift with you: life subdued.
I shall keep you in your place.
“But I feel unloved,”
And with that you crack, and you attack-
I stabbed as I saw the bloody moon;
I remembered the days when were happy and free-
In our house and on the beach-
I stabbed for the good times too, and the bad-
I was not mad, nor agitated- I just knew,
There was more for me.
So I dragged the corpse to a hole, and in it did slide-
And mounted my casket, into high tide.