Poem: High Tide.

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,”

You’re not?

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.

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