Like waves upon a surging sea
He broke. The mind has fragile cords
That barely moor it to what we
Call soul —

For many were the angry waves
That beat him up and beat him down,
No more illusions of some faux
Control.

As lightning in the synapse flashed,
The sky alight and briefly seen,
A bobbing figure, thrashing in
The surf —

But after panic, peacefulness,
And after striving, something else:
For what’s a person when they have
No worth?