The Sea of Sound On which I lay, Floating, wandering, Passing thoughts crash And barrage each other In constant battle they sail And sink – closing the gap and Drifting once again. The waves destructive Only expressed by beached ventures Finding their way Back and forth; but
Never complete – and in the distance The island stands; Home to the barred cages That weigh it down Suppressing the freedom Of thought and voice. Never to be found By another Soul but thine own Shunned by your personal design, Your own creation, leaning On the rock of euphoria, captured
By the sand. The ticks and scratches Count the days on the lonesome isle With nectar so sweet and thoughtless The battling ships fade on the horizon – As you drift; lost and alone. But do not fear For they say help will come – Freedom will find you And the discourse will cease
... The shell – Whether full or empty, Can be free in the sea Of wavering noise That so influences - The depths of one’s mind Arise, break the lock, Give in to the violence Of uncontrollable control – For the universe calls. You will know in time, What true liberation is.
The realization – that The physical is temporary. Prone to erosion and removal From the caustic waves of the mind. Fluctuating as does the thoughts Of adolescence do - Upon the first experience of shame. But everybody feels this… Don’t they? How do they, Span the murderous sea of sound?
Is it graspable as the sandy beach dissipates? Leaving the iron bars of the cage To corrode and rust As the ocean is traversed. I wait; and float – seeking, The image of terrain with no cells Or cages on the horizon. I have traveled, And sought, And found – But nothing yet comes.
And here I stay – Entrapped on the island. The warmth and chill of the sand Coursing throughout my fingertips One day, maybe, The static noise of the sea will cease, And the heavens will open – Exposing the marvels of a fulfilled life. ...
One day, maybe, The static noise of the sea will cease.