Oh loss
you feel like a hand slipping in water
child going down, down, down
depths greater than fathoming
where story books end and nightmares begin
a fear of drowning, perpetuated into adulthood
it’s in the little things, always
slipping on the rocks in Malta
screaming before you hear yourself
child again, grasping empty water
how often we feel this
reaching for a hand that doesn’t materialize
tick, tock, ego and chaos run the world
in a quiet place within us
somewhere we never share
don’t talk about
maybe that place has no words
just the upward glance
through waves
and a secret wish
pull me up
O please
when I feel like I am drowning
put your hand in the ocean
and find me
before I go too far down
where sunlight cannot be
found
Stunning
Reading this, I know that place. Oh, yes, you’ve caught it, painted it, and its true in that place there are no words. It is, that feeling is, older than when we learned words, when crying, or worse, whimpering, was its sole expression, or a silence in the dark beyond hope. It is older than that, older than human speech. Hear it in the cry of a lost kitten, or the moan of a mother bear over a dead cub.
Reading this . . .
Makes me sad just a bit.
“when I feel like I am drowning
put your hand in the ocean
and find me
before I go too far down
where sunlight cannot be
found”
It hits home. Peace, Candice.
Such painful anguish
oh. I just love this <3
Melissa
Thank you so much and for reading my blog, I so appreciate you M