Robbed

It’s hard being an island

when there are so many

islands in this world–

We find the grey mass

keeping us down,

buried in opaque

sand and dirt

then mud

that white, white mud

that covers us–

We have longed to be free

to reach the sky

to see a world

finally normal

finally at peace

but it isn’t,

and life is a young shadow

chasing after us–

All we ask for is a key

to a door

when all we’ve wanted

is the golden key

to the golden door

beneath our tides–

But we are locked

behind answers

as they follow us

to our graves

at the bottom of the sea

with bubbles of thoughts

hopes and desires

left unsaid

in the quiet dreams

of our starry depths–

Nothing is more treasured

than the present

for the present

matters the most

for that is where we are at–

Meet me at the beach

before dawn

before the sun

and moon

speak their first words,

and there

I will make my trade.

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