Edge of Sea

Me, in a boat, sailing.

Sailing and I can see the edge of the sea,

Stretching in front and behind me.

You, waving from shore, at me, in the sea, in a boat, sailing.

You not sure of the shoreline and me, not knowing the end.

Me, running aground of another’s shore.

(Someplace you have not been.)

It ‘s good to be where you have not been.

It’s good to see where you were not seen.

You still waving from your own shore.

Me turning, walking, slipping from view.

The One Survivor

There was no one victim of your unmaking
but there was one survivor.

Why was his deadly portrait kept in a hallowed place?

We were soft then
as yet unformed,
two girls
with wild blue eyes.
One as a ripcurrent in a calm sea,
One as still and silent as the Marianna Trench
filled with strange and deadly creatures unknown to man.

With time, the structure beneath began to emerge.
the dark one became wild and searching
pushing away the madness of worship
seeking a foreign language to speak her grief.
Finding sweetness under the guise of knowledge,
carefully seeking.



This is a totally unedited free-write. Major writer's block at the moment, but I have faith it'll pass. I need to challenge myself and take on something serious. Maybe an epic poem. Or founding a new religion. Or writing 17 books a year like Dean Koontz and Stephen King. Suggestions?