Bottomless pit

At the bottom of the sea,
lies turbulence and pettiness,
Deep rooted-floral beds
in their multi-colored worlds.

Over the sea there is always a breeze,
gently touching my skin
lashing at the red lighthouse;
illuminating the golden fishes
casting heavy light
on the old, paint-removed railing
from where I pen this.

It’s a field of boulders, with sharp corners and tough surfaces
A death bed. A casket of my own making.
getting lashed against the waves
Shelled inside an old rum bottle-
A note floats;
waiting to be re-opened.

The ship that I have departed
is hooting;
announcing the sharp distance-
between me and the land.

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