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Poem

at the cusp between 
slumber and wakefulness 
I reach a subconscious of wonder

it seems that my house was built
too close to the ocean
foundations and perimeter walls
supported by reason and books
now washed away by the water
each of them taking me away
from myself as floods rise higher

I try to save them
grab one or two by their spines
throw them onto safe higher ground
but of course for every little treasure
many more are being dragged away
from the coastline into the unknown
unsure whether tides might return
their value and meaning of life

most people nearby 
seem oblivious or apathetic
although a few exhale a concierto
of heart piercing but low volume moans
some appear not too care
others are even unaware of 
my and their plight
and maybe they are better off for it

waves are crushing pebbles and sea shells
currents and riptides cause quite some peril
a wild wind mutes extraneous noise
even the gulls must have sought shelter
and yet their teasing mocking beguiling
remains in my soul

a light house at breaking point
sends flashes of distress and notification
that one cannot change the colour
of one’s life boat when
black is the predominant canvass
and anthracite refuses to brighten the image

as the apocalypse unfolds
on circuitous mind paths
I feel somewhat detached from the scene
it is my own darkness
and sadness of being
my innermost theme
but I cannot help
to be an outside observer
with distance and judgement
just the same

loops of helplessness compete
with resilient resolve
and I am not aware yet 
of the scale of the storm
I only know that
this too shall pass
and the sunshine is merely
hidden behind storm clouds

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