Coming To Senses

Coming to Senses Ten thousand fathoms deep of immeasurable pain in hand Tim raises the anchor entwined with callus and sea shells Back breaking ardour sends blisters straight to the heart Touches untouchable spikes from the corals His tiny coracle was meant to navigate shallow waters He had been a bog snorkeler wrestling mud for sheer joy Yet his mask had come off and revealed a grimy persona Skin’s slipping adhesions loosen the grip Where dolphins had sung he echoes vacant sound’s void Hoarse silence suffocates dreams and screams deep inside A pantomime on the parchment of mute cacophony’s yield Ear drums beating retreat into uninhabited mirrors He tastes tentacles of an ink dried creature folds waxen paper Smacks tongue and flavours cannot discern tears from dribble Congealed on his palate ingesting nothingness’ rancid relish Buds meant to savour reveal nowhere to save Cataracts descend from within ragged blindfolded drought As he begins to deliver catharsis by grinding sand into tears Eyes on red alert icicles hanging from lids he melts down Sees what he must brace without delusions of fancy Five senses mingle with reason likes cogs in a rusty wheel of life Unshackled emotions smudge duplicity of sorrow and freedom Eventually Tim manages to let go of his doldrums’ illusion Spliced by his anchor lies the journey of his ultimate soul 26th May 2019