He told me not to go in too deepOr else the waves would sweep me awayBut there was no satisfaction with just my kneesSo I allowed the waves to carry me further in.Small foam bubbled at my stomach Whilst salt caught on my lips and tongueI tasted the sea and all its offeringsAnd felt the way it wanted me to belongHis voice sounded quiet underneath the seaBut the only voice I needed to hear was my...

words flow out of me as blood would fall from a wound. for my poetry is the aftermath and healing from what life has done to meand the wounds it has caused me. 

There's something barbarous about the cry that rises from the stands. So primal, So ancient.  It calls to mind gladiators or chariot races. But here, Everyone's a Caesar,  A Nero, And they show their approval accordingly, Be it a swift clap of the hands or else with rhythmic chants, As old as athletics themselves. A broader democratic vista I've never seen. Here,  The father dances with his so...