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Cascading endlessly, embryos caressed in a cerulean womb,
the drifters silently float,
where the currents would have them be.
No concept of determination, made to ride the waves
and content to do so,
these living opalescent jewels of the sea migrate
at the whim of
the great salt mother.
Like the lilies of the field they neither toil nor do they spin;
passive travellers in the oceans of the world, dependent on what
chance and currents throw their way,
these graceful disks
Sometimes I feel like that:
a moon jelly, or perhaps more accurately a sea nettle,
tossed and taken by the radiating energies of life
to where I need to be;
incapable - no - undesirous of self-direction,
accepting where I find myself,
supremely distanced from any set of goals
or feverish drive to accomplish, to accumulate, to own.
The life of a drifter suits me fine most of the time.
There is a sharp sad beauty in constant motion,
in being untethered, to finding oneself in deep strange waters pulsating with possibility.
And unlike my filamentous sisters in the sea,
my tentacles can contract when
something worth clinging to appears.
Those occasions, like the dying reefs, are growing rarer
and harder to identify with any certainty.
I float, I drift, I ride the waves of the cosmos,
hoping only that if and when I wash up on a high tide
it is on a pacific shore strewn with harmony.
~ copyright 2012 RC deWinter
March 12th, 2012
Viewed 890 Times - Last Visitor from Richmond Hill, ON - Canada on 03/02/2014 at 3:42 PM