Disconnected

Cruelty is
Words without voice
Falling on deaf ears- straining fruitlessly for understanding

A gentle breeze, almost pleasant, caressing the back of my neck as hairs wake.
Dives down, clearing space
Fingers tingle, arms tense, stomach tightens, chest expands
The tide begins to rise.

There is so much

So much swirling chaos,
Such thickness
Such crashing waves
Such deafening roars
Bursting veins, darkening blood
Pressing out, defying gravity's demands
Threatening to separate flesh from bone on its way to you.
A building a storm with no release
Barely contained
Made all the more distressed by it's own loneliness.
It's waters will never touch yours
Your canvas may near mine and inside our waters will push and slash and claw and squeeze
In vain.

I am but a vessel.
and my storm is my own
Words are but sailors lost at sea, fighting a losing battle
My only hope for understanding-
broken tools which quiet the storm they seek to share,
Settle the seas as waters recede.
What's captured-enough to fill a palm
A poor approximation
Distilled, filtered, robbed of color, flavor, texture.
What's left is clear and bland and quiet
Nothing of the storm that raged.

And we remain, two ships on distant seas.