Balancing the Ocean

“Smoke makes its way to the cross in the hallway. The paint starts to peel, where an old clock once faced. The handle is white from the heat of the night…This isn’t my life. Life’s a blind recital where the throne can borrow what you have from both halves.” ~Sullivan


Balancing the Ocean


Do we truly understand the meaning behind anything?
Can our hearts tell what is right and what is wrong?
Does our head hurt to hurt or does it thrive to thrive?
Do we truly get what the purpose of this life can be?

Such a sweet victory, mired by the fact that it was a loss.
Interpreting time lost with time saved.
Balancing the ocean’s waves on a single finger.
And drowning in a millimeter of water.

Anchoring my thoughts on the ocean floor.
Trying to keep the balance that was spoken of before.
A tightrope act that is far more scary than holding a gun.
And the ocean’s stories add to the inner turmoil of the sun.

Shallow walking equals my deep dive drowning.
My boat is being pulled under the salt filled waves.
Is this what we really think is going on?
Or are we along for the ride, with no one to help us hide?

Sitting pretty seems a lot scarier than running full speed.
A loss of control is a peaceful solution to the meandering inside of my head.
As I try to swim and balance this ocean,
Another one comes and decides to say, “Hi.

With this beautiful soul sitting next to me, and my heart set to warm,
With solid ground fighting to build a foundation to warn,
The ocean looks ahead to find its next person to save.
To wash them clean, in the salt and the waves.

An age of innocence starts to pass me by.
A structure set before, that I must climb.
When the adult takes hold and forgets the child’s mind.
An age before where I was once able to be fearless and ask for help.

But blood of my blood, scares me more than it did before.
A child that is fearful of being who he is now.
But here I am, with a Capri Sun in hand as I stand.
Asking to build a foundation out of sand,
because with enough pressure glass can be my guiding hand.

The pressure builds, and I get smaller and smaller.
My fingers shrink and the balancing act of the ocean on my finger,
Becomes harder and harder.
The anchor is being pulled up and the ship is about to set sail again.

But in the distance there is a child.
One that has two faces on each side of his head.
Crying and smiling at the same time.
My ship gets closer to the exact image of me.

I weep for the meeting that is about to happen.
I fall to my knees in preparation and anticipation.
My chest is hot and the nostalgic rush of melancholy takes its time to surprise me.
A long sigh, as I stand and get ready to answer the call.

Hello, to you good friend, how are you?
Would you like to run around outside today.
I have juice boxes and pb&js.
Isn’t it a nice day to come out and play?



 

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