Your soul wanders, in, and out,
with the tide.
Perhaps, if venturesome enough,
To faraway places you feel it ought not.
The soul, such a strong, yet fragile existence.
So easily silenced by the unceasing waves.
How daring of you, to inhabit such a thought of your own.
Too often you bury these emotions, so utterly free from all preconceived notions.
How daring of you, to create your own wave,
Disembodied from the rest.
Rather, a storm, grander than all,
Yet, divergent from the whole.
Flourishing before your own eyes,
A product of your own creation.
The inescapable hits.
You feel it, unlike anything you have ever felt before.
Crashing into your soul, it creates a great havoc.
How wondrous to know,
That a piece from within you,
Could spout such a lionhearted storm.
All manifesting patterns of stagnation,
Doubts, heavy and sharp in nature,
Are too easily left strewn upon the shore.
Dead and disembodied,
There they lie, the confidants of fear.
That these too, are the fruit of one’s own creation,
Momentarily spewed from the depths of the vast ocean.
The lost, but now found,
Anchors of the soul.
Or, as another might see,
Washed up treasures, halted at the feet,
the last remnants of one’s identity.
A beacon of change, yet to be touched with intention.
There so, do the anchors lie.
Shall these remains ever so slowly fall prey to the shifting sands and tide,
Shall they return to the deepest depths of the ocean,
Or shall they be conquered.
What the tide will do next,
Only Mother Nature knows.
Photo taken by CrownMotherEarth: The night of a very special moment. March 18th, 2016.