The Tide

When life becomes a cold, persistent tide
That washes in and out by some blind force
I watch the water rise as if to hide
My thoughts that cling to all my feelings’ source
My heart becomes the safety of a pier
And though the tide may cover it in time
I stand and feel there’s little I should fear
Although my thoughts are drowned, they’re still sublime
The tide may be subliminal, indeed
And all my thoughts are barnacles that cling
To this, my heart, as if they have a need
To stay with me, whatever fate may bring
I want the sun to warm me, where I stand
The tide is cold, and not what I had planned.

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