prose poetry: the turning tides – 26/02/22

fighting against the turning tides, the waves rise and crash upon the open shore, begging for appeasement, begging the waves for more. The fish and seashells and mermaids and mermen crawl from well beyond the shore. There’s barely anything left upon the seabed, so tumultuous it has become indeed, from tridents these waves of terror have been sent, and wreaking upon my life the charlatans and evidence of danger all around, whose going to reinstate that purple crown? That glowing iridescence that lingers above my head, once there, once gone, and once again now dead, then revived all around?

There are starfish lingering in the bed, in the crevasses, and one large, large star within my head.
“I am terrific,” it says, “I am here and now, won’t you reveal, won’t you remain unashamed, somehow?” I smile to myself, for this pink and yellow starfish is actually amazing to me, she’s how I see, I breathe, I be, through the very evidence that is wrought deep within me. Myself as a mermaid, no, that is not right, I need to be five pointed and note-worthy, without means of a fight. And toss and turn now, deep within my rest, I grin widely now, because I feel blessed for having entered into this scene, this amazing joy it does bring, the tides crashing upon the shore, shall I ask for more, for more, for more?

And now these dainty little crabs dance up from beneath the sand, left way this and right way that, they don’t want to hold hands, instead a conga line they proceed, with no difficulty, of course not, please, under the sea is where they will be, under their sea indeed. The tides will evermore change but they will still irrevocably remain the same. Precious beauty and pink and blue, with danger zones nil, just a rapid wash of hues. The sun shines down brightly today, this very day, and escape, escape I shall not, come whatever may.
© 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
Image from Pixabay
(26/02/22)

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