Poem: The Tide by John Predmore, S.J.

The soft mid-afternoon light speaks of day’s end,
But it won’t rush too soon as much yet is to happen.
Nearly the same events occur each day,
and I too often have just passed by.
I want to watch, but where to look?
Like cherished relationships, I fail to see the one who desires me most.
Dare I walk away?
Like I always do?
Gentle strength deserves notice as the sun steadily warms my hair.
The silence builds so loudly
and its bellow clunks into me. Progressively.
Declare the battle waged.
The soft black sand gives way.
I have no footing to fight back.
I won’t reach. I refuse to take hold.
Higher ground is safety’s illusion.
The grip is upon me.
A trickle turns into a strengthening stream.
From out of nowhere, firm power.
The surf is violent and edgy,
while the opposing stream lazily laps down to the ocean,
the tide pulls in, and no power can suppress it.
Like the stream, I can’t compete.
I am to give myself over to who I am.
No. I give myself over to the good
and bend to the rhythm of life.
Rock solid, I am surrounded.
Don’t get up. Don’t leave.
Become a part of it.
Life has been too long apart from it.
I am immersed.
No fight is left.
No struggle.
The flow is within me.
The fight is now for others.
All turmoil is drowned in contentment.
I am not giving up life; life amazes always.
Drench me.
Submerge me.
Don’t resist. The illusion is over.
Cover me and let me become who you are.