366 Poems: January 12th, 2016


I sit on the sand of the ocean floor:

clean, pristine, and worn by time.

The white floor stretches miles around

without a change in sight

and I sit, cross-legged, on the floor

with the green blue waters up

over my head

close enough to see the sun’s rays hit the sand

but far enough away

that I can reach my hand up and still not touch the air.

There’s no oxygen

down here in the blue,

and yet I am not bothered by this.

It is not that I can breathe underwater,

but that I don’t need to breathe

and I can just sit there for hours.

For days…

And I would look up at the waves

and see the sunlight changing their color,

see that above me they are crashing

and churning

and leaving marbled pictures on the sea floor,

yet they still cannot touch me

and neither I to them.


Do you know what I’d give to feel like this?


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