If the sea was death
angry and fresh
swelling and digesting
lapping the land with tongue like hands
birth was a city
And life the fickle path toward the sand
Crowds reckless and bland
pick a face to fit
If the mountain was your one true purpose under snow
As blizzards of youth wrapping the little they know
Just above a pinewood cabin dimly lit by your comfort zone
The hungry bushcat starved of risk, not faring on it's own
If the forest was your routine
ever arriving at similar bark and low hanging leaves
The hunter moving silently toward the prey
The esoteric shape of the beads of blood spray
If the sea was death
fear on a wave's crest
enormous expanse
swelling with souls
Digesting them with tongues like hands
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