The Sea

After the voices,
lingers the malignant odour
of time
and the sickly-sweet smell of fear
and secrets huddled in closets
and shiny, patented self-doubt

This quiet journey into oneself
is muddy and breaking
as sea water.

I cannot do it
I must not do it.

Strip away the whorls
of should and must and have
and the raw, blinding cry of Medusa
remains

What you saw and learnt was false
What you heard and fought was false
What you loved and lost
was also false

A vacuous stare
lips slackly held askew
a tremble, a shudder

And after those layers,
a bony skull, two eyepits
where previously dreams danced

This is all it comes to
This is all it comes to
in the end.

*inspired by John Banville's book, The Sea