deepundergroundpoetry.com

Hymn to Water

 
They were windsurfing on the lake today.  
Storm Kathleen was rolling in after all  
and so I watched them on a jetty  
skim the waves with all the grace  
of Bambi on ice.
 
The sports club owns that one—  
 
charges exorbitant fees to dive
as well as insisting on wet-suits  
and tow-floats and lifeguards  
and other shit sucking the life  
from wild experiences.  
 
I don’t swim there.  
 
I refuse to be sanitised  
and maybe as forty looms  
I carry with me the spirit  
of my anarchic era  
 
all Doc Martens  
and piercings  
and the pink dreads I twisted  
into a feral nest on my head  
because we were all young  
and savage once.  
 
Thought about it, sat there.  
How everybody owns something.  
How so little is truly free.  
 
Truth is, I’d of dived head first  
into that flash given the chance.  
 
abandoned the boardwalk  
and land  
and chair  
 
front-crawled arm over fist  
below the cold spring sun  
 
because I’m tired of fees  
on my life, my world,  
my worship.  
 
I want to remain priceless—  
sink into the velvet world,  
her vibrant, precious arms.
 
 
Written by Northern_Soul
Published
Author's Note
Letters to the Old Ways
7/30
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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