The thought rises, like a behemoth from the dark deep places, huge and impossible to ignore

A monster, having slept its fill in a dark and distant lair, now surfacing,

the force of it’s movement casting waves upon the troubled beeches of my mind.

It fills the tranquil bay of my solitude like a mountain, this Leviathan,

suddenly thrust up from the bottom of the sea. The great eye, black and cold stare unrelenting

as it pierces through the sunny day and drives a blade of ice deep within my cheerful heart.

I shiver in the sudden gloom, all the good that has happened before slipping from my grasp

fading into a distant and happy memory, a story told to children before bedtime

Just before the nightmare comes. One from which there is no awakening.

At the sea’s edge the ripples gently end their lives, tumbling the tiny grains of sand

before flowing back silently into the black water. They deceive, those ripples

For the current just beyond the wading depth is violent and strong. It is calling my name.

My hands cover my ears but I can not shut out the sound. Even the after echoes of such power

can not be silenced by the means available to mere mortals. Like a tuning fork my soul hums.

The vibration reverberates and sings a song of dark dreams – a chorus of lament.

What is squandered, youth and aspiration lies broken and shattered upon the floor

Years have drained away like the water through the sand and they ever return

to the relentless sea, always waiting in the dark. The cold current always calling.

Time and biology conspire to end the hopes of the eternal soul that lives within

the frail and broken bodies we wear on this earth – Each flawed and failing in its own time

We all must face our turn at the well of the spirit, looking deep within at the icy water.

We must drink of it to live, but each sip further quenches the flame of our youth and steals

another day from the storehouse we so carefully have guarded. All too soon the shelves are bare.

Wire racks standing in an empty room under the harsh artificial light. The glare burns our eyes

Yes, we are mortal and though we rise up like the tender shoot in the morning,

our slender root does not find the way through the hostile stony soil. The flesh is weak.

And the ground is hard. The living water lies far too deep below.

So the morning dew does fail us in the end, insufficient moisture to sustain the hopes and dreams

our our immortal thoughts and, so, must eventually disappoint the soul with no expiration date.

And we must at last, face the end of ourselves and hope that somehow we can let go

without screaming.

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