the soft hum of waves echo,
washing over my skin, eyes, mind,
as I slip slowly into the depths of dreaming.
I see the shores of a distant island;
white foam crashing down upon the beach,
sweeping broadly across and sucking at the sand
helplessly, mindlessly battering – such is their nature.
but these waves that fall god-like from the horizon
are silent.
ominous.
foreboding.
these waves in their wake leave relics
of voices once living: traces of souls
to whom no peace is coming.
I can hear the isolated cries of the past
bodies rising up from the sink to surface;
distant vibrations, far-flung melodies,
a rhythmic slap, superficial tremors
outside this peripheral existence.
transfixed I lie, beneath these waves,
in an idyllic world serene and cerulean
where green seas elysian rock you asleep –
if you can ignore the pulsing
behind your eyes the wailing
inside your ears or maybe
from your mouth
just forget.
