363 and 364

A helpless man, afloat upon the sea,

whose waves push in but one direction, all.

He cannot swim against her, and must fall

in her own way. A-tread and tossed is he.

Betrothed to that swift, sweeping, swathing sea,

engaged to her direction will or no,

espoused with her dictation: to, not fro,

brought where she wants to go, regardlessly.

Betimes he dives along with that swift sea,

and sweetly in the current can he swim.

No overpow’ring waves can conquer him,

not when he deigns to be willing debris.

So are the waves that move my mind to thee.

So is the sea that takes and tosses me.

~~~

I think I like mortality, despite

its hopelessness and many ruthless harms.

Despite its lack of love, and slim respite,

and all its false friends, and distorted charms.

I like the thrill, tho oft I wish it not,

tho oft I would be not than, in it, be.

It is the kind of thrill I would have sought

if every pleasure had been given me.

Respite from this--I would not like it long.

I yearn no heaven that is empty so.

Septic and stagnant, ruinous and wrong--

to know this struggle is all that I know.

Maybe there’s peace in “nothing”. I’d not know.

For now, I need to fight against a foe.