Surging waters,
waves of gray,
throbbing like a pulse.

All around me,
a swarthy hand,
dragging at my robes.
Flowers dancing,
out of reach,
the pane of ripples rise.

Drowning in the
murderous tide,
coursing to my heart.

An arc of light,
born from the box,
glowing with a welcome warmth.
Flies ever still,
its powers disguised.

Yet the sea still
burns its path,
but skims my
whitened sheen.

For it no longer
pulls me toward
the blackness of embrace.

As the spirit
lifts me through,
I am learning to swim.

As I defeat
my Tartarus,

I am learning to swim.