Forever More | Teen Ink

Forever More

December 8, 2008
By Anonymous

I am sitting, looking at the waves. Thinking of how beautiful they are, but how fierce they can become. There is a jolt; I catch myself, just in time. I breathe a sigh of relief, and have a shaky laugh.
I feel a pair of eyes watching me.
I turn. The man is of one that I have never seen before. He is wearing a white and blue striped shirt, is wearing a plain, white cap. Or what used to be. His clothes looked old, worn out, and stained. He had no beard, and his hair was mussed. It had a gray color. He's standing there, his eyes boring into mine. Never blinking, just staring. I feel uncomfortable. I shift my position, and turn back to the waves rolling across the ocean. I adjust again, feeling very uneasy.
I glance down at the water, I see myself, splashing throughout the waves. And then I see him, standing next to me. I am surprised. It was as though he merely appeared there. I look up at him. He looks as though he has never taken his eyes off of me. He seems like a wolf, hungry and eager. And I am frightened. He smiles at me, a deathly smile, and I look away. My knuckles are white from gripping the rail so hard. When I look up again, he is gone.
Before I know anything, I am falling, falling, falling. The water draws nearer and nearer. I feel myself drop into the unforgiving world or great depth. It hits me like a thousand ice cold needles piercing my skin. Pain has swept over me, like a sword drawing over a body. The water feels thick and heavy, as though it were inescapable. I am being drawn down into the thickened, unsealing darkness. My lungs are bursting for air, but no air is there. The light above is fading fast, and the sunshine has disappeared completely. I am unable to contain myself.

And I drift away.
Forever to be gone, forever more.


The author's comments:
I absolutely love to write poems. I have written over 50 poems since 4th grade. Sometimes(for absolutely no reason at all) I write poems like this and they have nothing to do with I was doing when I wrote that poem.
Writing is my life. And I love it.

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