A POEM: THE FLOOD

The Flood

Your chest moves along with the vertical tide
Rising and falling—it’s still a good ride
Until the pattern abandons—you fall overboard
Falling, until the waters have stolen your oar
Falling, until the one who rises behaves no more

You and your breath, once one, now divorce
Your Type A river runs red in its course
Adore the Earth’s floor—she may drop you in spite
Her oxygen, though ruthful, has never been polite

Every inch of you pleads to be freed from this plight
Perceptions will shatter, your bones will ignite
The remnants seek refuge in your vocal chords
Yet the shrieks are relentless, and the sound has no source

You befriend the dark, yet wonder why you fear the light
Was this partnership wise? —no, not quite
Admit this at once, and perhaps you will soar
Into the air that betrayed you, leaving you stranded in discord

Your lungs, now wings, drain the poison you hoard
In it, you once drowned; despite this, you’ve been restored
For its toxins are no match to your steadfast might
Soon, you will swim—but for now, hold on tight