In the Storm
Now I’m writing love poems
for people who don’t exist:
my muse Erato;
a fictional construct,
the personification of a feeling
that escapes me like a feather
blowing away in the wind.
I’m drowning in an ocean,
carried up by a tsunami in a hurricane,
and I’m reaching for a mirage;
a life preserver that isn’t really there,
but out here in the chaos,
I’m hoping real help finds me soon.
Maybe a coast guard boat signaling a beacon,
maybe a fishing boat pounded by waves,
but one that keeps on going
until “I think I can”
becomes “I thought I could.”
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