September 16, 2014 § Leave a comment

striving for pure
unadulterated past
you swim faster

toward that aural coast,
unimaginably ancient,
rising from where
waters of disregard
and redemption merge

each hard drawn breath
counts a stroke
each stroke,
an act remembered

defined by exhaustion
unable to sink
the only option,

is to
reach forward
and pull

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead


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