the ocean heaves, undulates 

gurgles, gushes, groans

it murmurs, it sighs

it dies 

and repeats its symphony

to itself again and again until forever 

on its own accord and in response only

to the reality of things and never 

to you 

because you don't move 

you barely move

in hope of not causing a scene with some sort of impact 

like the meteor that killed the ancient world

   that's how dangerous your movements are

like a meteor

like Vesuvius

like the Flood

attuned with some godly force

to be reckoned with

is that the truth of where your ego lie?

      where are you?

the Flood. standing in the Flood

maybe puffing out your chest or 

really just trying not to slouch

awaiting some sort of attention

to affirm your existence 

as if your sins weren't enough

but the ocean 

it doesn't heave towards you

it doesn't murmur to you

it doesn't die for you 

it just is 

and it will never do anything more than

simply respond to laws you were born to question 

you had a dream that you ran into 

your blood's nest where He rest with your child

surrounded by vivid naïve memories 

a quaint picture

but you ran in with a torch and wide eyes

and began to play

the cutthroat fervor of its potential at

blade point infatuated itself without hesitation

and spread its arms gasping and warping into something more laughable by the second 

until it wasn't 

and the whole of the place was the sun's firstborn spawn-beast

did you realize he was there

or did I fiddle and fumble lost in the drug

did I realize and return to the curiosity, nonchalant 

because    you    were in control?

you noticed and sprang to consciousness

seized the medium to spare a life 

   without a breath because you know you would have choked on the smog

and bathed the rouse 

the sun was set to dusk and ash 

credit realized or taken, whether or not shaken

you struck a chord with your own undertow

you woke and You knew 

what direction the current flow

and this

this is why you need the sea

it could redeem but it warps skin beneath

and you don’t want to set it on fire too

so you don't wade too deep

or kick or sprawl or soak 

for much too long

don't take the seashells home

    you moan

and don't pretend you didn't take what slipped

inside the creases of your shoes

       you groan

maybe listen to it breathe and 

take heed alone

so you heave 

and undulate

it murmurs, baritone

you sigh

and die

left un-bemoaned