All That’s Left Is The Morning.

I sat alone on a washed path,

Riddled with algae settling into debris.

I felt a thousand movements of currents dragging across my feet,

Keeping me tethered to the earth.

My fingers prune from my excursions

As I have fought to stay seated in this place.

My being feels lost, my home so far away,

I mourn the disconnection.

When did it come to this?

How much longer am I meant to endure,

Breathing in heavy air and pushing against prying water?

Surely, it is not as simple as letting go.

I’m sure something will stop me, to keep me here,

To rot alongside deteriorating logs

And begin to buckle under the weight of the current.

There is a desire to be enveloped, but never the will to let it become.

There’s a restful unease when I watch the sun sink into the ground,

Knowing I am cursed to watch it rise again in the morning–

Same place, every time.

Repetition, my tiresome friend.

All I can do is wait.

All I have left is the morning.

– tay naz