The Blues Can’t Die

I used to think that The Blues was a lie.
How can you sing when you’re sad?
I’ve since learned that sadness
cannot swallow me whole
if I liken it to something beautiful.

Because honesty is the beauty that hides within the dark.
And people like to think that they are safe from dark places
when they reach for the light,
until reaching, reaching, reaching
is like standing on the edge of what oppresses you.

Any moment you can jump off
and find yourself alone
where a grey sky moves out forever above a cold sea,
churning out waves that die at your feet.

The impermanence is now comforting,
and the vast body of water
is chaotic enough to reach you
without even trying.

Now looking back at you
from this sea so unrelenting
a mysterious likeness,
a lone seal bobbing,
its dark eyes staring
at your barely upright body.

And now you sing
for the sake of staying alive.

Poets Unlimited

Medium's long-running, poetry-only publication. A diverse, engaging and authentic few-times-a-week poetry magazine. Original poetry only, look elsewhere for prose. Readable by all - membership not required. [The Guidelines page indicates when we're open to new poets.]

Erica Louise Shugart

Written by

Wave-riding lover of everything wet. Less energy for the screen and more for my animal and plant neighbors.

Poets Unlimited

Medium's long-running, poetry-only publication. A diverse, engaging and authentic few-times-a-week poetry magazine. Original poetry only, look elsewhere for prose. Readable by all - membership not required. [The Guidelines page indicates when we're open to new poets.]

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