So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

An ache,
a haunting dream to live as we once were,
where we once were. When perfection graced
our fingertips and tongues- once golden.
All was golden.
Imagination and complexity
relentlessly writhing a way in and a way out.
A hope unsettled, glass cast out to sea,
tossed in the tides and currents of questions and truths.
To move forward. To move back.
And as it settles in me, a knowledge of my ignorance,
I rest on a dream differed, amidst that ethereal liquid
and weep.
But I cannot sleep,
for hope comes in dreams that drag me out to sea.
To sea, I must go.
To know.
that saving faith.
I must feel the pull of the deeps
and cry out.