Radio Box

Radio Box

i have a fixed view on the ocean.
the water is blue, kind of faded looking,
still serene in the way that the water glides, though.
i can't quite swim, but i'm not drowning yet.
holding me under is a wave beneath my feet,
a rip tide that carries me out instead of to shore.
i want to be alone but i'm not sure i can stand on my feet,
and my feet seem so far away.

So,
Where have they gone?

they might run away from me, looking back.
but they can't stay there without concentrating on where they're headed.
so, go! a massacre, a sight to see, to behold and to bear,
just when i begin to notice that my skin gets tight,
and my fingers aren't so smooth like the water once was.
i try to make a shell but my fingernails aren't quite there yet,
to the point they need to be to scratch the surface.

This is what I need,
I just want to hide in my skin.

my ocean fades away, like my smoothness and the blue,
leaving me with literature and an open blank book.
it doesn't matter if it's too late or too early to stay outside,
because where i am it's six p.m., it always is.
so, i take my book, and i take a seat, and i write and read,
take in the view of a white sea with a white sky.

This is it!
This is the beauty!

the ending, voila, with a radio near my shore, it tells me, it tells me,
"no sir, no ma'am, no lady or ma'dam, i see not, hear not, can not"
says the man, but he makes no sense, he rambles on.
i don't need his words to create comfort in these seas,
i may not swim but i enjoy the beauty given to me, i see the beauty,
when he, oh that poor little man in his radio box, he only sees the blue!
what blue? where? this is the faded white ocean, it is clean and has been cleansed!

Thus, it begins something different, a new shape, a new design.
An angle, a form, a manifestation, a creation, a creature, a feeling,
And here it is in it's greatest form;

forgiveness perhaps, forgetfulness maybe,
a new beginning
but only at six p.m.
in the white sea with a man and his radio box.