Widowed Without A Manual

Some of us grieve longer then others. I will not be rushed out of my love, that still inhabits my heart.

Anchor

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Is it the heat?
Is it the fork in the road, again?
Could it just be that I feel exhausted with uncertainty?
I am a single boat in a big ocean and I have lost my anchor.
What do I do?
Do I paddle to shore with my hands?
Dipping them in the salty waters over and over
Watching them get covered with sun and salt cracks till they bleed
Do I make a sail with my body
stand with my arms extended in hopes of a wind coming by?
Or do I lay in the boat and die?
There is a memory of the anchor
Irrepressible, resilient  to a fault
But the rope gets worn from years of battle and holding on
The ocean, while beautiful can still take life
As the rope frays the salt gets into every fibre
Dissolving every connection till…till… it can hold on no more
and it remains on the ocean floor while the boat and trailing rope move  away with every wave till there is no longer any control
Do I jump off the boat and swim to shore
Even though I can’t see land
Leaving life to fate

I truly can’t say.

 

 

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Author: ilovecloudstoo

I live in Canada though​ I was not born here. Newfoundland is where my heart breathes. Primarily I am a visual artist, welded and or cast bronze sculptures. Sylvia Plath may have been the seed planted in me that is creating poetry. Since then I have read so many great modern poets work. Art is my sustaining business poetry sustains my soul.

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