My head breaks the surface. <br />across an oily swell <br />the detritus of other lives drifts. <br />I choke on air <br />heavy with the breath of crowds <br />dense with smells <br />of blood shed indifferently, <br />passion abused, <br />love vulgarised, <br />art denied. <br /> <br />Here on the surface <br />my lungs are thick, <br />my arteries cauterised <br />by the fire of unavoidable fear. <br />My safety route is closed. <br />Anxiety has immobilised <br />the subtle apparatus <br />by which I have seen simple truths <br />below the complex constructs called reality. <br /> <br />Where are the cool winds <br />blowing fresh across a diamond sea? <br />Where is my innocent belief? <br /> <br />I shall survive, <br />diminished, half alive, <br />mourning the loss of my ignorance, <br />waiting for the return of vision.<br /><br />Janice Windle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/journey-inwards-collection-on-the-surface/
