The Tangled Net
Imprisoned by sorrow
My soul feels as restless as the churning waves lapping at my feet. The endless motion of the sea seems to mimic the ceaseless turmoil in my life, its inexorable movement mocking my feeble desire for control and order.
Seaweed tumbles over and over in the surf, pushed by the merciless rollers, powerless to resist. I feel a pang of sympathy; too often do I feel the same helplessness. His actions have ripped me free of my moorings and I am buffeted by the repercussions, an unceasing storm of breaking waves blotting out the sun.
My hands fist in the sand, the tiny grains grating against my skin. How long has it taken for these rocks to reach such minute sizes? How many years have they held out against the world? The currents that brought them here for a brief respite will shortly return them to the battering tides, to resume their hopeless fight.
Is this my fate too? To hold on for so long just to succumb to the waves and become so small I vanish, a minuscule reminder of who I used to be wrapped up in a shell of bitterness?
The waves move further up the sand, driven by the tide, just as I am driven to ask questions, knowing I won’t believe the answers and yet compelled to keep asking.
