Beneath the Tide

Beneath the ebbing and the flowing,
There’s a deep and steady knowing.

Not the ground, not a rock,
It’s the walls in which I’m locked.

There’s a dangling of a key.
How it often beckons me.

In a call to adventure.
And the shifting of a center.

World leaning to the side.
Gone for yet another ride.

To where, and why, I don’t know.
But I am compelled to go.

To escape, to get lost,
Irrespective of the cost.

So, I run, and I am free.
But the demons follow me.

Back in jail before long.
Perhaps it’s here that I belong.

Matters not where I go.
It’s the same ebb and flow.

And it’s no different deep within.
I seem to keep my own chagrin.

Did I break from the wrong jail?
And disregard the key detail?

The thing that had me chained.
And to where I cast my blame?

It was me, it was my.
Lost in a mistaken why.

That paid my problem no attention.
And cast a net of condescension.

A simple truth that I now see.
The tragic flaw that lies in me.

If I’m to plot a real escape,
It’s my self that must be shaped.

Like a stone like a sculpture.
It’s not the laws, it’s the culture.

As success has many fathers,
But to failure no one bothers.

There are answers in my sins,
And from there, escape begins.

These are problems I can mend.
To my own I must attend.

To embrace my many fails.
Not to miss that key detail.

And perhaps when I am through,
I can view this place anew.

Not as jail from which I’ll run.
But as a home, said and done.