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The Child Who Got Lost in the Tide
You're a song
That I wrote in a notebook--
Now old, wrinkled, dusty.
I pull it from its appropriated spot
In the back of my dark closet
That want to be forgotten,
That were forgotten long ago,
And unrealistic goals
That will always be remembered but never truly lived.
I open the cover to find you sitting
At this point, it all comes rushing back,
And I realize...
I miss you.
Although I see your form every day,
Your physical aspects are but a mere shadow of
What your soul used to be.
I was the shoreline, and you...
Well, you were a child.
You made castles from me each day
And, each day,
The tide would come in and wash them away.
I never lost hope, though,
For you were always back the next day,
Building me up again--
Making us both happy.
Somewhere along the way,
Far too soon ,
that child you once were grew older and,
Now, I am still the shore line, but you...
Well, you are something much more powerful
And agonizing to me
Than the child you once were.
You are a wave that breaks,
Down upon me,
Pulling bits of me into what owns you
That I don't necessarily want to be there;
Turning me into mud...
But... What if I don’t want to be mud?
What if I wanted to stay sand?
Beautiful, glistening sand that shimmers in the sun
And, although less yet more beautifully, in the moonlight.
It's amazing to me that
You and what owns you
Ugly, brown mud,
But what controls you
is what makes me
It makes me desirable to perfect children,
To long-lost lovers-- missing home,
To inadequate souls-- destined to wander upon me for eternity.
But... What is the moon to a wave?
Love-- for it's what built you up?
Hatred-- for it's what made you break?
Happiness-- for it let you build up before it broke you?
Sorrow-- for it broke you after it built you up? (
Or is it bitter anger and a vengeful heart?--
For it built you up
And freed you from what owns you.
Then, just when you thought you were out...
It broke you
And sent you crashing upon me,
Sliding back into the deep, murky abyss
That you wish to be gone.
I cannot comprehend what the moon is to a breaking wave.
Therefore, I will forget what makes me
Most beautiful, most entrancing.
Until, that is, the ocean whispers
What you feel for your master.
For, although you've told me yourself
On multiple occasions,
A lovely sand like me,
Who falls apart
And turns to ugly mud
So easily when you pull me in,
Cannot trust anything that
As easily as you.