If only sadness were a storm;
an angry rush of torrential downpour
to leave me breathless;
a Poseidonic fury to wreck me asunder,
but, sadness is a gentle wave
lapping up the fragments
of my grasp on reality
and pulling me
into its sea of desolation,
bit, by bit.
I lie back and bathe
in its distorted comfort
till I am nothing but sand
on the shores of the city
I used to be.
© 2017 Zoe MacMillan