CP (4-8-72 / marlboro ma)

Past The Breakers

past the breakers

waves relentlessly beat shells into submission, they lend
themselves to finer grains.
I walk upon the shore and dream of a time, when
I too will lend my body to greater reason.
Maybe you will stop beating me into submission, into tears,
into the smallest corners of my mind, where i retreat finding
relative safety. its the last place i can go and call my own,
where i find some small solace.
here on this beach there are scars too, but these tell of
a time creating beauty. nothing as tragic as the scar
running the length of me cheek to my earlobe where the
metal end of the belt laid open tender flesh.
no the tendrils of time that created the scars on this beach
are from ages long dance between surf and shore, of
dune and dawn. here the gulls dive out past the breakers
seeking sustenance. i too seek sustenance for my soul,
i have disassociated from my body which betrays me.
its pain is not really my own, it belongs to the batterer
more more than i. when im forced to return from sodden
shore i look up to see you stagger away, tired from your
exhausted efforts to beat the beauty out of me. your
drunken stupor repulses my spirit, in that moment i know
you will never erase what time has created, for i have
distant shores to walk upon. while these welts and bruises fade
im free from their effect, from attachment. the grains of sand
have also bared witness to the ravages of time, yet here they
are between my toes, i smile, laugh, i feel alive

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Rudyard Kipling

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