Ferries To Nowhere

Dainty at the docks,

I am surrounded by space and spirits.

Reading tarot for Pocahontas,

while I wait for this new world to make sense.

Boats go to and fro,

freedom, so temptingly close.

I could go,

over the barriers and into the waiting water,

onto a boat,

to wherever she goes,

unsanctioned adventure.

Summer is a siren,

reflecting in wasted waves,

vanishing when my fingertips pass through her domain,

and I start to wonder if she was ever really there,

if I could ever hear her songs,

or if I was just losing my mind.

Like that time when I was twelve years old,

in my mother’s home town,

little girl,

feeling fancy,

on a ferry, crossing the Mersey,

living in a song,

because the world outside the notes and chords carried too high a cost.

I often wonder what it would feel like to feel nothing at all.

I feel like maybe I’d be happier that way.

Of course, I wouldn’t know that I was happy,

because I couldn’t feel it,

but the longing would be long gone,

and God, I think the emptiness might feel a little bit beautiful.

Oh, but God,

you gave me a heart (that has torn in every way),

so, here I stay,

in a constant state of something I can’t explain,

just… a state,

with no escape,

watching ferries,

fantasising about freedom,

but always being landlocked.

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