The land eventually comes to an end.
The sea is beyond it.
If you look far enough,
You'll find the place
Where beauty surrounds you.
And soon,
You'll be enveloped by blue,
Everywhere you look,
Just blue.
You are where the sea meets the sky.
I’ve cried myself a river
More times than I can count
Now I’m crying something else
I’m crying myself a mother
Her hair will be as long and black as the deep
Her eyes bluer than the clearest sea
Her face softer than the smoothest sea glass
Her smile warmer than the sandiest beach
Her body lithe as the seaweed
Her dress with more ripples than the ocean Its self
With eyes that never cry,
Some part of her is always Happy
She is Mother Nature
She asks for nothing
She gives everything
She loves Unconditionally
Our hands are sanitized by the bleaching sea salt
The open doors
The rumors shared on doves' wings
With hidden letters
From inks of clear intention
Mistakes left open to
Whiteout remembrance,
False senses of securities abound
Binding political allies,
Warping the olden village fences
With unions draped
In beach-clad memories
Which bleached hands
Don't easily forget
Vanity washes through towns and through people
It crashes like a wave into our pre-conceived notions of "Beauty"
What is beauty but a pedestalled word;
given weight by it's own overuse to describe those who secretly hide behind
Masks which they paint on each morning...
I wonder what's heavier - The anchor in the shallows or being adrift at sea.
The air is now hot and the sun is shining
The bugs are noisy, loud, and annoying
The heat, the sun, the yellowish greens
Summer has arrived it seems
The summer heat has brought people to shore
The sea breeze blows, the people wishing for more
Children are playing, their laughter so sweet
Energetic enough to not mind the heat
The child from spring has grown older
Enjoying the summer with absolute vigor
Oh how lovely summer is in life
How strange it is to not be alive.
Your hand held mine,
and as much as i tried not to cry,
i still did.
I still did because i couldn't hold the knot in my throat anymore,
because your face reminded me,
that i'll be gone and you alone,
and because i knew that i wouldn't be able to sleep ever again, anymore.
I wouldnt be able to feel the suns heat, the snows freezing cold or the salty, sandy sea
ever again, anymore.
I wouldnt be able to smell your flowery perfume, to see your reassuring smile nor to fall into your welcoming warm arms,
ever again, anymore.
The beeping of the healing machines faded slowly,
as pain cleared off,
and peace came up,
as a once cold, white room,
darkened into empty black Oblivion.
I wish I could travel the world,
See famous cities,
Climb mountains,
Paddle rivers,
Hike in forests,
Explore tide pools,
Swim in the sea,
But.....
I'm all dressed up and nowhere to go.
Wasnt she my sea of thoughts and wasnt she in my mind?
Wasnt she the rebellion herself that not a fracture of myself could find peace?
Oh wasnt her eye a sea I'd drown with just a glance and wasnt her words the bullets I wanted to shoot myself with.
Wasnt she pretty like the devil and worst than God.
What kind of feeling was that?
Fernweh.
The only clear emotion I felt each time she spoke.The feeling to run away,to be born again.
Wasnt she a moment of victory in my mind when she laughed,or was she really how the war in me started?
Was she my peace or was she the revolution that teared me apart?
Was she the one i could call myself?
If you lived in the depth of the sea
would you seek the earth's ground
If you flow in sky
would you dream of the sea
If you sleep in the ground
would you miss the sky?
It is hard to get up in the morning
Without you
But I just get used to it
It is hard to peel my eyes when I blink
Knowing you're not here
But it is easy to pretend
You're here in this dead end
Where deep seas separate us
And our eyes blinded with dust
It is easy to pretend
We are one together
Which makes me feel better
And I know that this isn't the end
I started to get over it
It is just a slit
In my heart
What strikes us
is the stillness.
It’s a common place:
“above us only sky.”
The beach just keeps on going:
the sand shows the traces
of a kid who scribbled “Poo!”
inside playful speech balloons
again, and again, and again.
You have to stand there
to understand.
The men are stilll
with their feet buried,
they can’t smell but
in the distance lookalikes
copy them with tripods and lenses
Giving, I think the poet meant,
without expecting anything.
Not even a response.
A line would be enough.
Like an emergency measure.
Throwing a message
(you know: in a bottle).
How quiet, sometimes, the sea.