He who lived in the house by the sea,
had withdrawn... utterly.
He who shuttered windows tightly,
and locked the door so solidly
against the wind from the sea,
the wild, wind from the sea.
had slumped to easy chair complacency,
stagnant with responsibility,
and walled with predictability
until he yearned to be free-
to open all triumphantly.
He who worked the proper hours,
sheltered from the distant powers
of sun and cold and monsoon showers
cried “Enough, ” and opened windows wide
To feel the sea wind riding a rising tide,
To hear mermaids sing their enchanted melody,
To watch gulls dip and glide above a foaming sea.
Was my life a patterned mediocrity,
and is this giddy freedom my insanity?
He screamed to the wind from off the waves,
and broke each window that made men slaves.
“Too many rooms, ” he cried, “too many confusions—
Expectations, exasperations, society’s illusions.
“I want to write love songs and swim the deep blue sea,
I want to ride a dophin’s back, and to mermaids sing my poetry.