Untitled 2-30 October 1999.doc

Untitled 2
30 October 1999

Drowning in the abyss of push and pull
Waves crashing on the back
On which everything drops endlessly,
On the grains of the sand being swallowed,
That soul crawling helplessly…

The weeds slippery coiling through the corners,
Hand loosening hold of the unstable floor
With the push and pull of the currents,
The thought of uncertainty and doubt,
All twisting and turning in the poor soul…

The tranquility of the water’s surface
Does not speak of what is down under.
But, lo, this silence is disturbed!
A hand reaches down offering a tender
inspiration that awakens the deposition.

The waves turn back.
The grains of the sand have settled in fear.
The weeds like Medusa have hardened.
The creatures of the abyss have unscaled.
That poor soul extends and gasps smiling for air…