I have been on the brink of
this sink hole
so many times,
the clams know my name.
My feet are planted firmly,
but the sands shift--the
water erodes the foundation,
the brim of which I am
slowly falling over.
I hear the crashing of the
waves,
the shrieking of the gulls,
and I feel myself slipping
like quicksand.
I see the tide come in,
and wait for the release--
the cold cloak of ocean,
salt and water
and sand,
and I
feel myself drowning.
I want so badly
to succumb to the darkness,
close my eyes, and just
sleep.
But I can hear the laughter
of children playing,
and my lungs burn for air.
I'm not ready to go, yet.
I need to laugh and play and
build sandcastles.
I need to run in the sun,
catch waves,
and dive for sunken
treasure.
I need to be a child again.
I need to live.
I open my eyes, and
struggle--
I fight and kick with all my
might,
and I resurface.
I gasp for air, dry my
tears,
and dream of warmer days.
©pb--2012