The Ocean


I wait for my love on the shores of a crescent moon,

Kissed by an angel, the alpha, beta, and the omega,

Of a tale told so soft and shallow that the gods can hear us calling.

How I wish to be that wave, so blissful in it's own ways,

Tracing our hope with false appearance,

And falling down our fingertips with the light of the sun.

Capturing the daylight with our slippery fingers,

Ignoring the dirt hiding away in the cuts on our arms,

And listening to the maniacal laughter that bonds us between hate and remorse.

This blessed day in which our hands join as one,

And we dance to the glory of our victory and deceit,

Alone in the world again once the tires start moving.

We unlink hands, look in opposite directions, and walk away from each other,

Knowing that we may never be caught in that moment again,

But all we can do is wash the mud off our hands.

We cannot linger in the brilliance of the world around us,

But sink into the depths of infinity with the knowledge that blinds us with the sun,

And the incredibility that surpasses our minds, our hearts, and our emotions.

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