The Fathoms (4 Sonnets) - Poem by mike ruthenbeck
Perched, nearly dangling, hundreds of feet high
I sit, and stare at the surf underfoot
and the grass, dry as rocks, rustles and sighs
revitalization rises from soot.
the frothy, pounding sea is perilous
looking in; I can see ten thousand dooms.
only today seems quite so merriless
tomorrows renewal patiently looms.
Pond'ring, I am, a cliff on the bluff
thrust up from the fathoms countless below
the surf breaks it up, into smaller stuff
following life's only constant credo-
All things must return back to the deep sea
All things, ever made, through eternity.
So, contradictorily, dive down late!
and remain as a cave, high on a cliff
the fathoms will claim you, soon to check mate
all sinking ships are just faulty life skiffs.
yet ships will be claimed to watery graves
so with the cities, cars, bars, and towers;
patients of lost aboriginal braves
restrains the depths from abusing their pow'r.
the fathoms will wait for you to decide
a moment your soul will dive into bliss
not all agendas will bliss coincide
until the depths find one something amiss.
And at that moment you will be swept up
Drinking from reincarnations gold cup!
A fellow, stumbling by, on the path, here.
gazing around from this mystical height
walking the edges, regardless of fear
to gain a glimpse of a seldom seen sight.
while tucked in my cave, my self quite unshown
I observe a tranquil, subtle repose
form in his posture to thoughts mine unknown;
the fathoms have struck him too, I suppose
It be he who seeks that finds his true prize
not he who waits for his prize to arrive!
Nor will the means to the ends justify
breaths stolen from love's tandem dive.
The fathoms must be earned through good living!
Deep as the love you haven’t been giving!
So I sing to the body eclectic
to the souls of the braves in fathoms below
rejoice the man who swims from the septic,
ignorant waste we all hold in tow.
Overcoming the fears of the fathoms
conquering slowly the need for a choice
traversing alone treacherous chasms
endearing in all the unspoken voice.
the unwritten poem, grinding it's teeth
moaning gently on lofty sea breezes;
truth comes dancing on a singular leaf
dancing truths my heart hungrily seizes
Existence unfathomably deeper
Sparks in the eyes of a cast away sleeper
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Comments about The Fathoms (4 Sonnets) by mike ruthenbeck
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