Sylverone

Beneath an ocean of routine I writhe. I'm dragged through these weeks By fishing wire, It's slicing open my hands, The cuts are screaming at the saltwater-- And yet, I find myself comforted By how much distance I keep From the surface. I have long Before I face the light. But though this ocean Seems to despise me, I can't imagine Being one removed from its Unforgiving depths Only to have never basked in all it's colors.

Soaring aloft against the land breeze high, The night serene with moonlight radiance, outshone by a seabound shine, a gaze is met, an entire ocean, acknowledged and bound with emotion.