Low

Sometimes the heart sinks,
A subtle descent
To where no one thinks,
Where thoughts are not meant,
A tug of emotion,
Pulling one down
In some ancient ocean,
Of terrible renown,
Whose waters seem calm,
Like an aery space,
Offering a balm
To this fall from grace,
An ascent into air,
Where life aspired,
Love retained its flair
And hope still desired.
This calm’s an illusion.
Its depths are torn
By love’s delusion
That no one can mourn.
Hope lurks here,
In the cold water,
Evading the fear
Of captured slaughter.
It continues to sink
In the dark and cold.
This is no random link.
Perhaps it is foretold.

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