How many miles to the sea?
How many miles until we are alone together?

A Sea of Sunken Stars.

tied

to return from nothingness

night after night

this is our condition

morning daze

bright shining sun or

clouded over continents of gray

ever present wind coming in from the sea

water cannot stay still

continually crashes upon the shore

mind and body

together for as long

as the night holds the day

Oh, Sea of Longing

You must be crossed

For hope to become action

Heart of the Ocean

Wet sand covers my feet
as an airplane flies overhead.
There must be people looking
through their windows,
dimly aware of my existence
as they leave the ground.
The sea appears endless
from the beach
but it ends at every point
it touches shore.
I will never know
the deep heart of the ocean
but I know it is there,
filled with nothing,
filled with everything.
I can say the same about me.

A Freewrite Disguised as a Poem (and vice versa)

Conversations between sea and sand

carry on in a language far older

than any cognizant creature

is capable of understanding.

The fear of rejection, the fear of failure,

the fear that we are misguided in intent.

Stumbling through light and dark

our elbows still strike nerves described

as bones that clearly have no concept

of humor or anatomy. 

I talk of dreams as though they were children

left at home with their Mother,

that perhaps, if I talk about them enough

will materialize. 

I have no problem dreaming

by day or night. I don't need to be asleep 

to let my mind untether itself from concern.

It seeks you out, or at the very least,

the memory of you, the ideal you

I remember. My mind can be a fool

but it can also see beyond it's impulsive

desires. There is that which holds meaning

beyond idealized memory. 

Memory is subject to revision

but what else can we call forgetfulness? 

I am a house not yet finished.

There are no panes of glass

in my unfinished eyes.

There is wind and sun

and night

pouring through my incomplete

body. There are blueprints

at the ready for when the crew comes back

and finishes the work that remains.

Forgive me 

for being less than what I wish to be.

I take that back.

No one should apologize 

for their being.

We are as beautiful and whole

as we were meant to be.

The waves of the sea

do not need to worry of the water

at the bottom of the world,

it will surge forth in time

and take it's turn upon the sand.

I look out beyond my eyes

and try to look past my limited view

of the horizon. Must the world

always be so terribly beautiful?

It must be terrible

and it must be beautiful

at all times

to everyone

for all time.

Endless Ocean