Beneath the Surface

It felt so good to be beneath the surface,
To see the summer rays break overhead,
To turn and twist, like otters in our freedom,
No thoughts, no left-behind, no what’s-ahead —

And sometimes we would see the ones who lived there,
Those creatures of the bayou, or the sea,
Who wandered in and out of us young swimmers,
And marveled at our strange inconstancy

For we would swim, but then would take to walking;
And go above the surface, to the light,
Where movement is too easy, and too shallow,
And where it’s much too warm and far too bright.

    Back home, beneath the surface, we would come,
    A world more like the one we all come from.

Author: Owen Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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