The Deep Dark Blues


There are snorkellers, deep sea divers and creatures of the deep. You are somewhere between the first two and while I thought myself a diver once I’ve come to realize I pertain to the very last category.

It can be dark down there, the pressure tight enough to crush a brain to crimson ink. And while I wish to have someone hold me in that darkness, understand the depths at which I feel emotion, it’s not in me to do as sirens do and drag down their victims for want of company.

My heart breaks. More like my heart is broken and has been for so long that the good moments, so small, few and inbetween seem to vanish in the pitch darkness of the lower level sea. My eye’s have grown accustomed to the dark and so few live down here. It is a solitary existence. But what more can I ask for?

In order to have you beside me, to understand me fully and to meet me deep below, your God would have to turn back time, ravage your childhood, destroy your family through sickness like dominoes, have you feel the crushing weight of supreme betrail over and over again until the taste of it in your mouth became so normal that its acidity would no longer make you gag. He’d have to break apart your friendships, kill off your closest comrades all while you watched shipwrecked with no way to help.

Queen Elizabeth I stated, “The past cannot be cured.” So what am I grabbing at here? Nothing. Just the fact that you’ll never dive deep enough to reach me because your heart was never torn to pieces so many times you forgot what it felt like to beat in tune with the universe. Leaving you a needy, pitiful beggar for something…more.


Roots buried deep in the ground
Take hold my ankles beneath moon round
Make me one with your breath
Keep me safe in life and death
Arms outstretched to rays of light
Branches reaching day and night
Grounded feet buried deep
Fruits from harvest you will reap
Body, mind and spirit grow
As above, so below

Question of the Bard

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Mountain, so heavy, pressed into the Earth,
Rocks die, turn to diamonds, they know not their worth,
Grapes gathered in barrels and crushed till they weep
turn into the wine that the wise-man drinks deep,
To forge a strong sword first the metal must melt,
Liquid turns to solid then blows must be dealt,
Soft sand of the ocean, abused little shells,
are broken made base to the endless sea swell

My question to you now, is it worth all the pain
to face all the pressure or is it all in vain?

At the end of it all some diamonds are too small,
The wine much too bitter, the sword much too tall
And as for the sand it’s too rough for the hands,
Too hot and too dirty for a person to stand