Speak Out (of turn)

[kaberett]

I dream I am an ocean filled
entirely with words, blue into black, with inky
sussurating depths. I wake instead
to deserted desert hush, a husk,
dried up, dried out, or hollowed.
Listen to the soughing sighing of the wind:
it sings, in echoes, someone else's song.
No need to excavate, not here, the ruins
plain to see: no work at all to read remains,
to catalogue and blithely categorise.
I dream I am an ocean. This is why:
Because I worry at the sure. Because
I'm bitter salt, that once was pure. Because
perhaps like rivers if I pour myself into
this empty space then I'll be made anew. Because
a glimpse of ocean is enough, some nights, 
to carry through to dawn. Because
in breaking,
            breaking,
                     breaking,

                             I'm reborn.

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ETA 22/02/2014: I made a recording!

Comments

[calissa]

I think it would feel unfinished to me if you ended with the breaking. This way the emphasis is on the rebirth and hope.