tell me what you think it's about.



it was a dark and stormy night

so dark he could not see the lights of the city, only the black,

so stormy he could not hear the conversation, only tremors of thunder


the poor weather had taken him by surprise, and in the confusion, he had lost himself

the seductive waves lured him too close, until he tumbled overboard,

and once a sip trickled into his throat it was inevitable not to be consumed,

and once the sailor found himself here, even with an outstretched arm, his fingertips could not disrupt the calm surface,


for this was a gentle storm

a thoughtless hurricane

an idle monsoon

a vacant cyclone


and by now the sailor was secluded

            stranded in the blue woods

and by now the sailor was utterly alone and naked with the ocean

            an individual, confronted by his world for the first time

and by now the sailor was suspended

            immobile, careless, accepting of everything


there was fear in his belly as he fell further into it all,

because there was no going back,


but thoughts were elsewhere in this land,

dominated by the serenity of lonesomeness,

framed by the void of light, save for the wispy rays that dissolved downwards in long stretching fingers, forgotten friendships wishing to be remembered,

and the gentle lifting and tugging of ancient currents


as what was left of the sailor ended it's tumbling journey through the sea,

it gently collapsed into the soft fine sand of the floor of the Earth,

and it's eyelids wandered back and forth,

like that of a stem of kelp caught in the water’s breeze,


until, in a grand finale,

they closed,

like a fly caressing the surface of a stagnant pool,

like a gravel road’s gentle bend into the obscurity of the forest,

like faded fall leaves knowing the bitter nectar of winter,

like a stone in the wilderness, untouched and waiting,


like the rusted hilt of a sword used twice,

like a television set, provoked and ignored until the colors blur together

like the value of a burning ten dollar bill,

like curling up to sleep with fragmented wiring and broken glass,





The End

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