Sea Storm: extended version

violently rocking in the ocean,
alone and helpless in this abandoned ship.
a whale circling me,
taunting my shaken heart with its size, but
it’s not the whale I fear.
the large beast
submerged under me, threatening, even
with its momentary absences,
to capsize my body,
shred me to tiny pieces of a hated picture,
rip me apart like spaces in a paragraph,
my words and thoughts disconnected and
sent desperately into the seas.
That’s not what I fear, not this whale that swims under me.
I fear the ocean that my thoughts are sent into when the whale tosses me overboard,
the whale’s home, my guest-house that is becoming more and more familiar.
the whale can cease to torment me
when it tires, and it will.
but the waves of that eternal ocean cannot and will not ever cease.
The storms are white and rapid,
crashing against the sides of my ship,
weathered and torn from the storm,
over and over,
stealing my prayers with its currents,
so that my cries may never reach the heavens,
and replacing them with more and more fear.
I don’t fear the whale,
the living and breathing tool that the ocean uses
for evocation of its horror.
no, my shaken and broken breath belongs to the bed of water I am sailing upon.
racing heart, beating sails, I belong to it.
and after my body has taken the beating,
after the horror film has played its end,
the water will calm its waves down so that I may feel nothing,
not even the pain that its whale kept me alive with.
I will become a trapped, circling animal in its enclosure,
slapping myself across ships and quaking hearts.

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