Dreaming Of Drowning Poem by Greg Gaul

Everyday, I appear at this swimming class
our humble handful of splishing splashers;
some shallow waders, others in deep waters.
As if we knew what waters we were in.

Shallow ones simply stand up to breathe,
the deep ones tire, then slip beneath and leave.
Cautiously, I move towards them to help
afraid to be pulled below from sight.

None have any idea of how to swim,
neither do I but they don't know it.
The teacher speaks in riddles, if at all.
Exactly, where is it we are swimming to?

My urge is to get to the safe shores,
others seek the middle off the deep shelf
thinking that they can breathe under water.
Even I don't trust my mind, myself.

Sometime, I'm going to dive down in;
won't come up unless someone saves me.
A bleary bolt blazes cross weary waters,
sink or swim, drown or live; which will it be?

Panic! The torrid tide takes me away
to a lazy lake in which I may lay.
Slide slowly to its bottom, forsaken.
On the surface, lost ones wailing, flailing.

Breaching warm waters, I fall silent, still,
to the soul's sanctum of cool emerald -
returning to my true temporal home,
life's final breathless time; one with water.