Audition

The soul is a lonely sea

kissed by lonely birds

after translucent prey

skimming the surface:

small winds make little ripple

algae bleeds a green surface

and thoughts wrestle in dense beds.

Life is one strange warrior

a dress rehearsal, some say,

or audition no one requested.

Still, we steep in our seas,

for the most part, willingly.

The soul is a tree arching

after light even in darkness

when in space it reorients

unknowingly, unfeelingly,

its concentric grooves

scars of joy, pain; like this,

the soul ever expands,

continually born like a

the tree reflecting infinitely

in dark fathoms.

What is there to say

about the sea that is each man?

Death says.

Death says, come.

The struggle ends.

The curtain closes to the

sound of underwater applause.

Copyright Julianza Shavin 07/08