The ocean is freedom.
I walk the beach,
Gazing at the horizon.

I pause a moment,
For I find great enjoyment in
Standing on the shore and watching
The waves, crashing for eternity,
And then letting the water
Cleanse my feet.

I am terrified of water.
Murky water, really.
I need to be able to see the bottom
But nevertheless,
I walk in and find my swim to be
Refreshing and horrifying.
I can move freely, sure,
And feel the bottom, sure,
But what lurks underneath the surface?

I feel the current tug me.
Why do I resist?
Is it because I think of those
Who foolishly claimed they could
Navigate the sea effortlessly,
Yet soon found her to be unforgiving?
Or is it because I know
If I were to ever find myself
On the shores occupied by the Lotus-Eaters
An eternity I would spend
In an apathetic slumber?
Or maybe it is the murky water.
After all, what is unseen or misunderstood haunts.
I force myself to dive under
And upon opening my eyes
Discover a world of clarity, not murk
For the murk is only seen above the surface.

I let a wave bring me back to shore
And begin my walk of the beach once again
But I soon find the sand to be too hot
And immediately put my feet in the water
To cool off.