Abyssal – A Poem

The submerged moraines call to me this night
promising the freedom of the hills.

They sing to fall down, down, down
but I wouldn’t know if I was up or down
lying in a meadow of seaweed
looking up
at planktonic twinkles.

One foot on the railing
I look to the hills
then the foaming abyssal maw.

Will I be released, or captured?

There are no absolutes.
No certainties.
No finalities.

Only the mountains
the stars
and the water.

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