The Sea

(copyright Robert Payne)

A preponderance of thoughts come careening into the head exploding in an evanescence of remembrance and pain, not in the physical sense, rather internal turmoil, as a cauldron boiling in fire and ash, splashing the sides and cascading up to the reaches of the sky so brilliant as to blind one who is not already blinded by the thought of approaching the edge with step not too deliberate, yet not timid, standing in fluttered excitement, inhaling the cool misty morning of the salty tumultuous sea below, beckoning the flight, now so easily done, wondering if this might not be the correct path, knowing that the point of no return was passed seconds ago with the outstretched arms of flight like an injured sea bird in a not so control flight to avoid the consequences of the need to taste the sweet salty aroma of the turmoil below coming closer to finality but in such a time as slow motion would dictate in real time that death is celebrating in all grandeur the life, with just an innocent taste of ocean.