When the tides came in lapping gently at its shores I mistook its foamy waters for healing balm to an aching soul. It came and went with such hypnotic trance. I was powerless. So I went along, and I let it wash me out to sea instead. And I was stranded out in deeper waters. And all I saw were endless stretches of blue and green and grey. But the calm I thought I knew was most untrue. I tried to trap the endless liquid between the spaces of my fingers. And I tried to keep my head above its surface, I did. But the weight of my being could not be held up by water.
When the waves made sea walls six feet tall, I braced myself to push right through. But the strength of my body I thought I knew was most untrue. It was like running into brick walls, thinking maybe all my broken pieces could diffuse right through its pores, thinking maybe I could emerge on the other side — whole.
When I found a buoyant to keep me afloat, the darker waters scared me less. I had a device to help me cope, a sense of hope. A kind of friend, to see me through to the end. But the hope I thought I knew was most untrue. It became no easier to hold on, but a lot harder to let go. The ceaseless illusion of soon finding shore, set me adrift burdening more.
I thought I was being chained to a sinking ship, but really, it was the stone in my heart.