Monday, June 21, 2010

The sounds of the ocean

I sleep every night on the sounds of the ocean...
Sometimes, the waves touch me gently,
Taking away tears of sheer exhaustion,
Bringing me smells, seashells, hidden secrets in ancient bottles...
Sometimes they hit me so hard, so brutally,
I want to cry, to scream until my soul hurts,
Until I become a void,
And my voice becomes broken bits...
The ocean hits, blows, then comforts, then gets anxious and pleading...
It becomes an addiction to argue with it...
Once, so far away in time, when I was somewhat innocent,
I gave my sandals to the ocean,
So that it'll wash them for me and then bring them back...
I truly trusted the ocean to give me back what belonged to me,
For why would it want to take it away?
What will the ocean use a pair of sandals for?
And what will the waves use a soul's naive hopes and dreams for?
Mother then told me that was stupid; the ocean doesn't bring back things...
They just float away over the faces of the waves,
Touched ever so lightly by the rays of the sun,
And dissolved into the bits and pieces of nothings...
But I got my sandals back as I wanted!
Sometimes the ocean can come back to you!
It was a wonder how my heart lost its beat in a moment,
Only to leap with relief a second later...
It was such a precise and defining moment!
But will the ocean bring back innocent hopes? Morning dreams? Dusk breezes?
Will the sun be gentle to them and not burn them into drops of fading light?
I never again trusted the ocean to bring me things,
And I tried hard to never throw things to the ocean...
Maybe I can throw my letters to the ocean,
Not for them to come back, but for them to travel so far away,
And hug a distant moon...
And maybe, just maybe, I can throw my black heart to the waves,
So they'll clean it like they did my sandals,
And bring it back to me, a whole void seashell...

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