My head breaks the surface.
across an oily swell
the detritus of other lives drifts.
I choke on air
heavy with the breath of crowds
dense with smells
of blood shed indifferently,
passion abused,
love vulgarised,
art denied.
Here on the surface
my lungs are thick,
my arteries cauterised
by the fire of unavoidable fear.
My safety route is closed.
Anxiety has immobilised
the subtle apparatus
by which I have seen simple truths
below the complex constructs called reality.
Where are the cool winds
blowing fresh across a diamond sea?
Where is my innocent belief?
I shall survive,
diminished, half alive,
mourning the loss of my ignorance,
waiting for the return of vision.
Janice Windle
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/journey-inwards-collection-on-the-surface/
