The Sea

First came the smell.
That clear scent of living things,
the tang of algae and salt
assailing
my nostrils and tongue,
along with the sting
of shells and fishes:
There's the Sea,
close by,
and it bears a story
worth being told.

I screamed, and shouted.
Flailed my arms,
acted the fool.
The Sea
Listened
in near silence.

Then came the growling sound
of rolling,
encroaching waves
gently lapping
the dry sands
of my conscience.
"What was that again?",
I wondered.

And it was already too late.

For the tide is upon me now.
And I should run from it,
as it slowly rises:
the tips of my toes,
first,
the bridge of my feet,
the ankles
then.

I am a midget
that can't swim:
the end result is clear.
It's by now at my knees;
still there is a way out.

But as I look upon you,
oh Sea,
engrossed by the chaos
which gave you shores and meaning,
I am lost in contemplation
of your deep blues,
your shallow greens,
your turmoiled whites.

And up you rise,
stating no intent,
claiming no purpose.
Yet you have me by the hips,
now,
and I really ought to escape.

The warnings are there.
The red flags you shake
with impetuous motions,
letting me know
that you have an Ego.
Showing me the bodies
- still alive, if barely -
of others you enthralled
with the lure of your depths.

Now neck deep in your waters,
I feel no fear.
Only the need
to finally say goodbye
to a life past,
the desire
to drown
into thine salty-sweet humours,
oh Sea.

Hence I smile,
spring my arms out wide,
and take the plunge.
I know,
I know you'll have a care,
beloved,
unruly Sea.