Tragedy was never an intention
but it came, cloaked, secretly
shouted from rooftops,
appeared in a heartbeat
telling stories of prides
and falls, ambitions and rebuttals,
the close and the lost, fantasies
of real love and bruised realities.
Tried to settle. Tried to take
readymade steps on a tarmacked path
through a council park where
yellow arrows pointed the way on
and the way out and the grass was shaved;
but yellow arrows missed the new, the wild,
unexplored, dangerous – no mountains to scale,
no rivers to swim or adrenalyne rushes
and their aftermath. Quiet, sedated maybe.
So much risk to stay alive
through the deathful, tolerate
the insufferable, ride waves
in nausea and vertigo and still
choose to be with the ocean,
choose to be the unbearable
ocean in the ordinary, the everyday.