The coils of the land appoint limits on the soul

as any adventurer could tell.

Such bars spur a longing most imminent

to feel the ocean’s swell.

There is a great need to heed and fixate

on the knell of the briny deep.

Swaying, sighing, praying, prying

within the fathomage of humanity’s waters,

Waves that press and pull us in,

encompassing, enveloping

The soft embrace of salt and foam

drawing us into the abyssal home

of the furtive mother around us.

Moaning, surging, droning, urging

The sea’s song compels us

with lyrics that hold no meaning.

Instead, they breach us to our core

and lead to instinctual careening

of the part of ourselves we choose to repress:

Consciousness and cerebration

will submit to the enshrouding caress

and sink our fragile forms in the frigid depths,

a darkness we cannot comprehend.

Waxing, waning, relaxing, sustaining

The sea succumbs to the moon.

The solitude that nighttime brings

stirs a comforting cocoon.

As we float along the tide,

waves swallow the sand alongside

the land that coddles and warms us,

but when that yearning swells again

we can always return to the arms of the sea

to become lost in primordial song.