In Too Deep

How to fit the mold
Of a shape you cannot fold to,—
Of a shore of thought
You cannot walk along,
Swallowed by the ocean’s depth;
Lost in a ‘place’ you call home,
One that that isn’t confined by
Any walls or rooms,
Any windows or doors—
Anybody?

Slowly, you’re sinking:
deeper deeper deeper deep—
Though you’re trying to
Ride the waves
Like a skinnèd fish,
It’s oh so hard.
You should feel alive—
Why do you feel dead?

Authenticity: you value her
Like a pearl to its clam;
A prize so rare,
Hidden and trapped behind the Veil
Of ugly black and white shells,
Many of whom seem identical
To the empty ones around them.
But what will you even do once you’ve found one?
Try to take it to the surface,
Share it with the world?
Pull it down into the abyss,
Hide it from the world?

So you sink further and further down,
So far down that soon it feels you’re rising upward.
If Earth’s a sphere,
I guess you’re right-side up;
But you feel
Backwards forwards sideways upside down.
There’s no direction here,
Nothing to guide you:
No lighthouse, no compass;
No North Star, no Jupiter.
You’re alone and you’ve gone
Deep deep deep.

Oh, how marvelous it feels to be alone and gone!
But oh, how lonely too.
Life dies within you,
Death lives around you;
Everything fades to Nothing
In the quiet, dark, hidden abyss of the
Deep.

Brinn W.