Choking on the fruit of my wave
I am reminded of where I’m at,
as I am delivered to what I am;
I need to get out of the ocean
because I am not seaworthy.
Retracing steps to nowhere
Thickened lines of my mistake-
the ocean aches, with each row-
a haunting sense my grit is true;
as I cannot drown in the ocean,
although I struggle, wading, or not,
it is not a pleasure to be exposed
despite that it’s to my own eyes
There is no pride in times of toil,
it is only wisdom in that humility
The epiphanies are beneath me.