Friday, March 15, 2024

The Treasure Beneathe

 



Words are secret remainders

  Legacies left unwritten 


They are the vastness of the mind, bound. 


They are our trophies. 


  They sink and they plunder, 

  Like shipwrecks- entire life stories- 

Lost and never found. 


  Beneathe a toiling and deep surface air, 

Where all is depth and dark below...


They remain there, 

  Locked and crushed by the pressure. 


They are a secret world, 

 Stretching beyond all the micro-cosmic forms of life. 


I....


Got lost in you, Ocean. 


In my blue, a spark still


Of all that is.  


We remain here, nameless...

  But not without form. 




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