in small trial’s farewell
the tide has already risen,
robust in its leavened rise;
thence what was dry
now feels the cold of brine in salty chords of repose.
what was safe in the sun
now hides in it’s shell
in the dark wetness,
thick from instictual fear of predation,
the fear of destruction of our earthly bodies
or disturbance of our narcissistic peace we so obdurately try to maintain.
our protector from facing these these undesired inevitibilities,
and maintainer of our perspective and inclinations,
fastens us to our roles —
and raw in its emotional essence,
as the temperament of the sea,
from one extreme to another,
in highs and lows.
yes, through natural consecution will the tide lull;
time, the defined course in this continuum;
yes, each individual nature of one has a definition
as insistent as the expansion of the universe
and certain as its increasing entropy.
all answers, beneath reticulated layers of complexity
that the question of fate becomes irrelevant —
we are who we are
due upon our arrival as innate creations of mother nature,
set in our ways
set to react
grow in our ways,
because it is who we are.
and creation’s creations.
while fighting to remain still
within our comforts and routines,
in hopes of evading the unavoidable terrene of ever increasing entropy.
and though the tide has already risen,
the cracks and dust of sun dried scars regain moisture
and heal again
until the open air poses risk once more,
splitting and crumbling,
eroding at our circumstances,
threatening our comfortability
and challenging our existence with the idea of change.