Poetry
50 feet; I pray at the bottom of the ocean
“[When] the sunset filtered gently into the library, and you
noticed it, and it made you feel something spectacular and
maybe a bit frightening in its grandeur, were you not, for all
intents and purposes, in a church?” — John Paul Brammer
It’s dark and it’s cold.
I didn’t think I’d have to be here.
This is your return home,I didn’t think I’d have to be here.
this is your return to what’s inside.
Let me hold your hand when we’re there,
Let me hold your hand and we'll pretend it’s necessary.
I nod and nod and reassure.Let me hold your hand and we'll pretend it’s necessary.
Must we return to where it started?
I tell you again,I am afraid you carry very little weight.
Strangely familiar, doesn’t it sound so?
It tickles my ears.
Of course it does, so it has since the very beginning.
Focus, what do you see?
You can’t hold your breath till we ascend again.
Open your eyes now.
I can feel it all:
My lungs press against my ribs
As I hold onto the last pieces I’ve gathered from my world.
My lungs press against my ribs
As I hold onto the last pieces I’ve gathered from my world.
They only go skin-deep,
I’m so invisible below.
I’m so invisible below.
I feel another hand against mine,
The skin so smooth,
The touch so firm but gentle
Compared to what’s being spoken up there.
Outside... strident waves,
The current trickles through my fingers.
Ssh, quiet, time to wake them up.
Calmly, we turn off our light.
The sea sparkles swirl in the moonlight.Only now I can see silver woven through the skies.
Kneel on the seabed.
They’re here.
I’m not scared of the dark.