In the Ocean

Sometimes, life seems 

like a dredger: 

we are pulled along 

by unseen forces, 

bickering amongst ourselves 

as we squabble and fight, and 

all the while the boat 

still chugs along. 

We are the fish at the top of the net, 

struggling for breath 

and daylight. 

Below us are those who do not stand a chance 

but still fight on. And below them 

are long dead and 

suffocated creatures.

And left behind 

in all of this 

is a seabed 

left decimated 

and debauched.

But life does not have to be like this: 

it will only ever be like this 

if we carry on seeing ourselves 

as the fish. 

Some want to be one of those men on the boat;

I just want to be the ocean,

pulling in and out

with the billow and blow of the wind,

the hug and release of the moon,

the gulp and the scallop

of the gulls and the land;

as waves form, and break, to their own tune,

and the world cups us briefly in its old, loving hands.