When the Sea Never Parts

A stable point in a deep blue sea
where nothing is still. Nothing is stable.
Where even a calm surface
hides currents and dark winds,
where broken promises rise unbidden
like dreams, like nightmares, where storms
can be seen coming from miles away
and yet cannot be prepared for,
not really, each one different,
with winds and rain and wild waves
full of flotsam. Full of broken things
where your ability depends less on strength
than an ability to float when all you want to do
is breathe one last time and sink.
An ability to float and breathe in the sky
instead of waiting for the waters to part.
Solid ground it appears, is less valuable
than we think.

About this poem

When I was in my darkest time, it was the ability to believe, really believe that there was something better ahead. That was my “sky”. What better was less a fixed idea than something that floated just out of sight. And I tried to float with it trusting that better and I would come together, evidence to the contrary.

The picture is one of three small watercolor seascapes I painted about a year ago.

Tom