Above the Waves

If I stand on a point in the middle of the ocean,

miles above the waves,

will the wind still touch me there?

If you and I follow the line between day and night,

will we touch the hem of eternity?

Truthfully,

the wind can creep into the most quiet of spaces and night is inevitable.

I curse the hands of time because they hold the remote to this motion picture

and I cannot pause, rewind or fast forward.

It will not speed up upon my request,

or slow down upon my demand.

But still it passes,

still it passes,

still its passing,

still it has passed.

In monotonous droves I must watch,

and I trace the lines in my fingerprints as it is a maze I can’t seem to solve.

Where do the lines of my fingers end and yours begin?

I wish not to answer this because once I do,

I must let go.

Once we discern our own atoms we are just bodies

roaming beneath the sun,

serving our own selves,

leaving the ground but only a martyr for some immoral cause.

As are all things we are finite.

So I shall spend my days searching for some point above the waves.