As if held by a conscious force, I lie waiting on the sands. Ready to be pulled back by the sea and then discarded again on the shore. Wondering which wave will take me and if the next one will drag me down to the depths.
Into Poseidon’s caress.
A crushing and lifeless hold on me.
So cold, but I was never used to the warmth.
Perhaps I just need some sunshine. As I lie on the beach. Waiting.
Is it a cycle? An even and controlled pattern. Am I on the rails, or road or sea. Or path. Is there a path? How is this woven together?
I’m assuming a logic.
I’m assuming an outcome.
An answer.
Instead of embracing the moment of quiet. Accepting that there may be no outcome. That I may just have to wait for the wave or the light and take what I can from what I have been given.
Dancing in circles in my head. More shapes. Everything’s a shape. And I’m back to the beginning. There is no shape, there is no pattern.
I’m back at the start. At the end. Waiting for the beginning.
Finding my Way 