I tried to swim my way
across an ocean of uncertainty
and not for very long
I found myself drowning
when the crashing waves
of the unforgiving reality
grew larger and stronger
and smashed into my very being
breaking me apart
into thousands of pieces
hitting me again and again
leaving me wounds and bruises
and me, gasping for air,
tried my best to stay afloat
wishing and hoping
to be rescued by a boat
but however I tried
to cry and make a sound
my unfortunate soul
can never be found
and however I tried
to swim toward the shore
my wavering strength
sustained me no more.
Then flashed before me
fond memories I have kept—
days that I laughed,
nights I have wept—
and from these memories
a voice called on
and told me to keep
my eyes on the horizon
so I listened and pondered
to each and every word
through the ocean's roar
I have clearly heard
and on the horizon
I have kept my sight
through the crashing waves
I put up a fight
never against it
but by letting go
surrendering myself
to its ebb and flow
letting it drown
my soul for now
and wash away
my fears somehow
for beyond the horizon
there's a land that is fair
a land full of joy
where I would no more despair .
But until that day
when I stand on its shore
the roaring waves
I should endure
until the waves itself
that drowned my soul
will wash me ashore
as it rumbles and rolls
and then, only then,
as I lay on the sand,
will I gather my strength
and will I slowly stand
to face a world
I have already known
a brighter world
to me that was shown
by a voice that called out to me
in the middle of the stormy sea
calling me to surrender
telling me to let go
calling me home
and letting me know
that although the horizon
seems too far away
I will surely cross it
someday.
Copyright ©️ 2022 by Jowie Espiritu
About the Creator
Jowie Espiritu
I write to give myself a chance to express what I can't say out loud--- my own version of therapy that heals my wounded inner child.
I have 4 Poetry Books published on Amazon, copy this link to view my author profile. https://amzn.to/4dj6uDS
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Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
By Lamar Wiggins3 days ago in Fiction
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