Ain’t No Longfellow

Was watching a show on jellyfish. Damn, they’re beautiful. So here’s a poem not about jellyfish.

Jellyfishing

What are the words?
The words that float,
Elastic jellyfish in the sea,
With time distended as they swim and dissolve.
They carry the waves and the breeze and the brine;
Moving, swaying, crashing,
Impacting the cold and the clash against the foam;
They sculpt the shore and eat the sand.

Why are the words?
What do they feel
As you prick them, fling them, ignore them.
Are they apathy, are they drama,
Do they reach back and soothe-

Some.
Not all.
But some.
That is enough.
That life, that touch, the return,
The swirl of thought and pathos is enough
To dance the psyche with tenderness or ferocity,
To steel the arms and rock the legs to moving –
And lift the face of Future upward, onward.
To act. To swim. To dissolve and change the color of the sea.

That is enough.

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