Buried

I was born beneath the water, a violent crashing sea.

Eyes of ice and flame quenched hands, hair of gold

long since faded and a voice submerged and quiet.

Whispering into the depths of a long-forgotten lake –

we were here together once, but I cannot find the

strength to emerge, to find that eternal promise

of life beyond me.

Heart of stone, I believed so strong, lies smoking

and charred, and I hear the mocking seagulls’ cries

of laughter, or lullaby to reach me as I sleep.

Ever faithful but never true, I can’t recognise

the strangled song, broken on shards of too much,

discordant now from disuse. The wind tries to wave

away the ashes but they settle on the water

and I choke, bitter with the emptiness.

I resent the theft and revere the lie,

too many have taken from the truth.

Loyalty and cruelty, inextricably entwined,

tie me to my madness and were I to

offer you a moment, where you least

expect it now – would you proffer your

forgiveness? Would you find a mind

unsound, twisted by the sadness

and the distortion of these depths.

I give now my cliff-edged compass,

hope to guide you in your path.

For I think that mine is buried now,

and even as I find the ground, as it

covers me with weight and snow,

I am sorrowful in the purity, and

that I never thought to ask. If I

ever rose above for you, if I ever

sought your soul – is there a world

where fish may fly? Or are their bones

left there white and cold?