Adrift

I feel adrift in the Sargasso ~ one of a myriad of derelict hulks, rotting quietly as we float. An eerie stillness permeates the air, like an electrified stupor ~ at once tense yet numbing in its heaviness. Even seagulls do not shrill. The only sounds; the lapping of small waves as they strike the hull and the beating of my heart. How came I here, to this doldrum state? Alone and wallowing in senseless self-pity, inaction is the only outcome. This ennui is like a partial death. The pain of living too great to openly endure, I withdraw deep within the empty shell. The gentle rocking lulls me, further dulls my listless senses. I long for a tropical breeze or even a cold winter squall to free me from this becalmed revery. What will it take to break this viscous cycle? Trapped for now, I can only hope that some yet hidden influence shall make its presence known. Release me from this hideous prison of my own making. Evoke that faith, now reserved, and restore my true nature. Awaken my sleepwalking psyche so I may truly live. Yet, while I wait, I cannot continue in this idle lethargic state. Actively I seek external contact, pen my thoughts to share and thirstily savor the response. Poetry is my release, for this I shall not cease! 11-08-2001 Written November 8th, 2001 © on Jan 18 2002 08:08 AM PST, Heinz Scheuenstuhl    0 • 10