3 hours ago
Atlantics
Leviathans swim deep under the world
of light and sound again. Under the heaving
dark, the first dreams, silenced and betrayed,
became frenzied nightmares with always empty
memory and stomachs. Beings accept
what monsters deny in avoided rest.
That is why I toe the waves, avoiding rest.
I dream and can’t recall those worlds
like they were past lives, or I must accept
I never dreamed, nor gave my salt and heaved
something weeping out of the emptiness
within, without some sense of betrayal
looming. Ghoulish men fear their betrayal
or they awaken to it, from their carefree rest;
shackled beings show them the emptiness
of their investments, their recorded world
of commerce, in the waters they are heaved
into. And the liberated walk into the sea, accepting
of their fates. What wounds have I, to accept
that there is no cowardice to be betrayed
in what I ponder? Just grief that we’re born heaving
with, before we’re lulled to rest?
There are chasms in my memory where worlds
of lullabies have sunk. In empty
darkness now, all song sounds curdled, emptied
of any softness, like a music box accepted
in an undiscerning maw that swallows worlds.
They circle now. Their movements are betrayed
in currents underneath me. If I rest,
what if a nightmare stops this heart I heaved
across collapsing time, because all I heaved
within it rotted, I could not leave it empty
of anything except itself? I cannot rest
afloat this long; I sink because I can't accept
my last sight could be terror as the body was betrayed
for the indulgences of a forgotten world.
It tastes like a world no longer empty,
like tears, this heaving source that accepted
my breath, that betrays every call to rest.
Leviathans swim deep under the world
of light and sound again. Under the heaving
dark, the first dreams, silenced and betrayed,
became frenzied nightmares with always empty
memory and stomachs. Beings accept
what monsters deny in avoided rest.
That is why I toe the waves, avoiding rest.
I dream and can’t recall those worlds
like they were past lives, or I must accept
I never dreamed, nor gave my salt and heaved
something weeping out of the emptiness
within, without some sense of betrayal
looming. Ghoulish men fear their betrayal
or they awaken to it, from their carefree rest;
shackled beings show them the emptiness
of their investments, their recorded world
of commerce, in the waters they are heaved
into. And the liberated walk into the sea, accepting
of their fates. What wounds have I, to accept
that there is no cowardice to be betrayed
in what I ponder? Just grief that we’re born heaving
with, before we’re lulled to rest?
There are chasms in my memory where worlds
of lullabies have sunk. In empty
darkness now, all song sounds curdled, emptied
of any softness, like a music box accepted
in an undiscerning maw that swallows worlds.
They circle now. Their movements are betrayed
in currents underneath me. If I rest,
what if a nightmare stops this heart I heaved
across collapsing time, because all I heaved
within it rotted, I could not leave it empty
of anything except itself? I cannot rest
afloat this long; I sink because I can't accept
my last sight could be terror as the body was betrayed
for the indulgences of a forgotten world.
It tastes like a world no longer empty,
like tears, this heaving source that accepted
my breath, that betrays every call to rest.