Monday, June 30, 2008

Sink or Swim

when it's sink or swim
there are two choices:
paddle, hope for foreign voices
to pick you up again
or sink:
a weak swimmer,
with no shore or savior,
it comes to this in the end.
but as you drown,
given up,
choking on the briny fluids deep,
it's near serene
the time to pass
and alone in drowning sleep.
drifting lifeless with tide and time,
the cold lets your corpse keep,
suspended for motionless ages,
only nibbled by peckish visitors
who nag, perhaps torment,
then leave again.
you find yourself there:
nothing else.
No one comes, none can see,
but soon you rise,
numbness gives way to feeling,
cold like ice gives strength,
soon to thaw.
Soon there's nothing left
but numb and rendered pieces,
flotsam, jetsam, jettisoned.
washed ashore, the broken bits
baked in sun
make brilliant sand
strewn upon a beach so great
none can own it,
merely on it stand.

[not actually standard, this is a response]

1 comment:

Paul Bernard said...

Well, I never. See my earlier note about falling in the river!

I like this one even better, I think. I might be inspired to try and route out some of my old poems. I wrote them all down somewhere...

Thanks for your great comments on my blog, btw. I was worried no-one was reading it anymore.