this great pilgrimage across the ocean
each and every one of us, head above water, swimming against the tide.
the ignorant will burn their muscles down to the bone until they feel their feet glide through tips of kelp. while the practical will welcome the current with open arms and let it sweep them away. their bodies will decay and disintegrate. the bubbles of their last breaths will seep into the surface, and we'll try hard not to swallow and consume their words.
the strong will lose their minds, grabbing for land that even their eyes can barely touch. while the weak will use the little hope they have as oxygen for their lungs. and the amputees, the weak muscled, the weak minded, they will make their way across, even if only with lungs half full of water.
the currents will play with us, make us kiss, make us fight, make us love.
the occasional shark will attack, drag one of us into a mariner's grave.
and when desperation hits, we'll make it a race. we'll let go of the pacts we had previously made. we'll blame it on the currents, they kept us apart. we'll slam against each other, push and hold each other down. bite and kick and scratch. we'll swim through blood, past the wounded, and by limbs, fingernails, and teeth, all floating so peacefully.
and when we reach wet sand, we'll notice the cuts and bruises; we'll even notice some gone. and we'll try to uncover the sources of this malevolence, but we won't be able to recall. and when we hit dry land, we'll recognize our foolishness and the nature of our acts. we'll turn around, face the ocean, and try to take it all back.
the ignorant will burn their muscles down to the bone until they feel their feet glide through tips of kelp. while the practical will welcome the current with open arms and let it sweep them away. their bodies will decay and disintegrate. the bubbles of their last breaths will seep into the surface, and we'll try hard not to swallow and consume their words.
the strong will lose their minds, grabbing for land that even their eyes can barely touch. while the weak will use the little hope they have as oxygen for their lungs. and the amputees, the weak muscled, the weak minded, they will make their way across, even if only with lungs half full of water.
the currents will play with us, make us kiss, make us fight, make us love.
the occasional shark will attack, drag one of us into a mariner's grave.
and when desperation hits, we'll make it a race. we'll let go of the pacts we had previously made. we'll blame it on the currents, they kept us apart. we'll slam against each other, push and hold each other down. bite and kick and scratch. we'll swim through blood, past the wounded, and by limbs, fingernails, and teeth, all floating so peacefully.
and when we reach wet sand, we'll notice the cuts and bruises; we'll even notice some gone. and we'll try to uncover the sources of this malevolence, but we won't be able to recall. and when we hit dry land, we'll recognize our foolishness and the nature of our acts. we'll turn around, face the ocean, and try to take it all back.