Making Waves

I am home now and my mother tells me to admire the sea.
We stand, sand between our toes, salt in our lungs and I’m home there.
Like the comfort in familiar, like a mother and a son
like the heartbeat, lub dub, of the crashing waves the ticking watch.
She grabs my hand, says, “Look at what man does, pumps her with venom.
The way that no matter how you try to change her mighty waves

she remains unwavered, her skin blue, white hair atop her waves.”
We stop to admire and learn from the majestic blue sea.
It is then that I understand, she adapts to the venom.
I must be more like the ocean, listen to teachers and their
lessons and adapt to my surroundings under their close watch
while maintaining my deep blues in color and be Adam’s son.

Like Icharus, I wish to fly, but not too close to the sun.
Instead, high enough that I can feel Apollo’s warm, warm waves.
But, this isn’t ancient Greece; sun dials turn into watches.
Surrounded by words, opinion, building so tall I can’t see
where ever it is I am going until I have gotten there.
It is all about the end results: time wasting is venom.

Time is money, life’s about money: time wasting is venom.
Questing for life forces us to become the prodigal son.
There are still the few, those who embrace the venom whole and they’re
the oceans, the ones remembered. People listen to their waves.
To be an ocean, like my mother said, to live like the grand sea,
basking in the sun, embracing venom, living while others watch.

The pulse of the tide splashing, ticking like a fresh time piece.
The rolling waves embracing the various deadly poisons.
Children stand on the ocean’s shore for the chance to witness,
while gripping their mother’s hand, understand that they are offspring
looking to be taken to something new by the strong current.
Only, once they are pulled away do the see that they were there.