Dips

This embodiment's a swim upon an infinite sea,
A struggle to stay afloat, to breathe and see,
Through dry holes of eyes and ears and nostrils
From within the damp cellar of this corpse that lives,

Each morn a rise,
From deep waters of consciousness,
A swim towards the surface of the lake,
Manifesting as awareness in the wake,
And each dusk a sink, a dip,
Back into its dark depths,
When the face of awareness ebbs,
Until none can see from above.

It may look same to the shallow but nay,
The soul gets dense by the day,
Heavier and heavier as it slows down,
This cycle of rise and fall goes on,

Up until that fateful day,
When the soul is locked, trapped away,
Under these waters, anchored down,
Struggling to breathe as it begins to drown,

Writhing until it gives in to the pull,
It looks chained but is truly free and full,
Finally seated in silence in an unplottable realm,
As a treasure, eternal and divine.

I wonder if my fear came true. A recent event in my life has taught me to not take pain for granted. I have considered quitting poetry but do not wish to force it. I shall go with the flow but I hope to merely talk of first hand experiences and observations, and not venture to speak of feelings that I do not truly know, of emotions that I pretend to have understood. Doing so sounds not only arrogant, it sounds like a mockery of the pain it truly gives, and a false sense of superiority over those who are actually undergoing it. I am unsure of anything though. People talk of following their hearts, their passion - while I am not entirely for such a way of life, I let my pen follow my heart and might end up eating my own words while attempting to write new ones. I convey my apologies to the Infinite in advance,

This poem and a few ones I am going to be putting up on both this page and Random Scribbles are ones I wrote before this decision.

I began writing this poem on 8.1.2017, and went on to make updates on 18.1.2017. A few more changes were made today (20.1.2017, 10:30pm) before posting it.