Hold My Hand as I'm Lowered

I have nothing to say.

Nothing to bother any of you with today.

I see that I have eight followers now,

And nine votes in my poll.

Both are new records.

And it makes me happy to see 5 votes for sailor.

Sailors are quaint and whimsical in my mind,

Which is probably so very skewed.

But I have nothing for you.

Hmm.

By default, have a poem:

To hurl oneself,

Like a rock to the surf,

Is to be free.

And to throw yourself into waves

Is to be in love.

Fall into the waiting arms,

White-capped waves,

And siren songs,

And it's true,

Father Sky.

Mother Earth.

Lover Sea.

Because what can one so fickle be,

But the changing tides of a lover's embrace?

And I hurl myself into the currents.

Dragged under,

Into depths

Below the waves.

Where somehow,

Sea is calm.

And siren songs fade into

Sweet nothing-lullabies.

Tears mix into sea salt.

What is the ocean

But this escape

And this longing.

A lust to be free,

Hurled into the dark and chilled depths?

Body, the rock,

-Weight-

That holds one to this place,

As it sinks so gracefully,

Lullingly, into sea's embrace.

Arms that ebb and flow

To rock you like it

Rocks the sailing ships.

And to fling oneself,

Hurtling through air

Into sea,

Body the rock -anchor-

Is to be free.

Settled in siren songs

And the sea's strong, tidal embrace.