The arms of the ocean

When the arms of the cold empty ocean
are my only consoling caress,
and the wide open sky encircled by waves
is all that my eyes can possess,

I stretch out my fingers in desperate need
of a touch that might shake off this shroud,
for loneliness seeps a chill through my bones
and the aching of silence shouts loud.

A day drifting by in this blankness of self
weighs an anchor of terrible loss;
it’s the waste of each moment with no one to love
that nails me to this floating cross.

The albatross gliding can see
thousands drowning nearby, just like me.

© 2022 Jim Loft