On the shores of this consistency,
no battle cries emerge.
In the ferocity of these callous waves,
none too merciful stand guard.
My lighthouse is no shelter,
for he belongs to no one and none to him.
His reserve is a necessity
the depths of the ocean command.
Brutality in them is innate-
survival otherwise unfathomable.
Endless is the stormy peril from
streams all too conscious to really exist.
Gluttonous consumption
replaces a desire all too familiar
for satisfaction.
The wave cannot hear the waverer-
he floats amidst the illusion of fear.
Unbeknown to the fact
that immortality awaits at the
foothills of His rescue boat....
No comments:
Post a Comment