Holding Ballast

Like swimming through dense fog,
Moisture seeping into my thoughts,
Dampening them, weighing them down,
So laden, they drag deeper,
Moving slowly like leaden fish,
My heart aches like the lungs of a diver
as I gasp into the clouded waters
looking for something that I have forgotten.

How did I stray so far from the shore?
Was it running after fireflies,
Chasing tiny hopes as they flitted in the night sky?
They flew and I happily followed, childlike
only to find myself alone in the dark
as their lights flickered out.

The heavy weight of it makes flailing
an impossibility for my wasted limbs
and my chest feels an ache as a dark ballast
pulls my spirit deeper under the surface.
The currents of thick blackness feel soft against my skin
and there is only one action that I can take.
Or want to take.
In that realization there is comfort,
a quiet joy that allows my release.
I surrender…
Without the argument of my fear,
or the worry of my desires,
the drought moves me and together we travel.
Knowing the land when I reach the shore.

Fall 2009

About The Sterling LIne

Where does art end and life begin? I don't really see a distinction, but I try to consciously live each moment with enthusiasm, following inspiration where it leads, being open to possibilities and exploring the boundaries of myself, the world I live in and those I meet. Though I attempt to tread softly and respectfully, I often get clumsy, carried away with enthusiasm ... Woman, artist, force of nature and mother... Lives in the SF Bay Area.
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