THE TIDE.

THE TIDE

SAMUEL PETERSEN

©2019

The water is cold as it swallows my legs.

A world beneath and the air above.

Who knows where it came from, but where will it go?

Recycled by nature, molecules drive me insane.

I don't want to think about them...it's too much.

They crash into me and it is unavoidable.

I am overrun.

The wet sticks and becomes part of you.

I'm not sure if it absorbed or just transferred...

The tide evens things out...

A place where it is both wet and dry.

Human ghosts wander in constant disappearance.

Existence is a metaphor which is never really defined.

Halfway in and halfway out...

Inappropriate emotions shred what is sacred.

The circle of life is more like a Ferris wheel...

I can't get off...I am dizzy...this isn't a normal ride.

The illusion of control is a half-truth...

Force-fed life...what is choice?

Even the tide isn't free...

Objects manipulating the other...

We dance with puppet strings as does the tide.

I'm equivalent to a cog...

I guess it's best to just fit in.

Like footprints in the sand...

The ocean whispers as it roars...

The answer betrays my soul...

For now...I am lost in the tide.