Reality

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