The Crossing
Across
a sea of discontent
the old man struggles.
Years of patient rebuke
fall in a broken wave.
The tide pool eddies
on the edge of his
tired soul.
A promise of
rest hangs,
floating in
a sweet cloud
of soft
emptiness.
He reaches within
himself a place of balance;
found twixt
the old and new,
the good and bad,
the here and there.
Then he was no more.
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