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Curling
eddies swirl a fateful breeze,
a keening wind, drowning under
cool tides of salt sea air and a bullet dead sky.
Blowing a mournful sound,
it pierces the heart, dragging from
beyond a watery grave.
Deeper down and farther still,
the wind gives way.
Shiny schools of fish glide
among rocky, ageless coral
hiding from soulless predators hunting in currents.
Deeper down and farther still,
gray ghosts haunt our very spirits,
their sonorous songs telling tales
of birth and joy, life and death.
Do we dare to ride these tides?
To hear the songs they have to offer?
To drink the ebb and flow of life?
Do we dare not?
To touch the water,
run our fingers through the pulse and throb
of drumming heartbeats?
To feel the sweet sounds
of mortal life play along our very souls,
filling a vast emptiness with a hopeful dream?
© 1998, Christie
Benson
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