Wash Waves

world without end turning

life's a skipping rope
over my heard, under my feet

I must leap or trip
life's a journey, life's a trip

must know when to lie down
when to get up

must catch the rhythm
or catch cold or flu or worse

world without end turning
must adjust the rhythm of breathing
heart beating

these must be regulated
like high tide, like low tide

like waves beating shores
about the globe and withdrawing
and beating, without abating

my blood similarly
high up on the beach
and washing back

with its shells and its sea weed
with its sea crabs


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
5:43 p.m. 24.04.09