"Oceans"

R.I.P.

This poem is dedicate to Stephen Oliva

“They were people holding out for light.
They were people who did not know what they were holding out for.”
-Buddy Wakefield

If people were oceans,
and lungs broke like coral,
would you still love me knowing my shores wash in tides the size of my heart?
And would you be OK knowing your shoes might get wet trying to be there for me?
…

Earth is made up of mostly water!
Earth is made up of mostly us!
We are oceans.
In the way we breath.
Like deep sea whale orchestra’s.
Would you listen to the crack of bodies clashing or just hide them in the caverns too deep to see from the surface of our skin...
See we have the power to beat shorelines into submission...
like gazes.
And make people take down their sand castles.
Or at least open the draw bridge.
Please don’t let it drop,
we might break too easy.
Like the sand in between our toes when we walk ourselves to try and find the answers.
If you hold conch shells to your ears you can hear us breathing.
If you break boats against us you can hear us crying.
But if you break us, REALLY break us, down on the inside, you can watch us sink.
Why do you think they call people with water forcing from their eyes rock bottom?
We are forces,
but brittle none the less,
because we are still children.
We get dark sometimes.
Beneath the surface.
If you dig deep enough,
you won’t be able to see the light anymore.
People out there know how easily we break against rocks.
That’s why they make their veins rot with the light house bases in the reflection of razors.
Holding out for light is hard,
when Earth is made up of mostly us and we’re all trying to grab some.
Some of us,
we wash up.
To catch air...
Stephen Oliva...
He’s a 16 year old who went to my church.
They used chemotherapy to pump the sun down into the depths.
In between the coral pumping and breaking against the ships...
And plateaus of jutting ribs...
And that skin that gets so pale sometimes his waters look green like islands...
And that heart that beats like a storm,
making his skin shift...
There’s a pitch blackness that sounds like God trying to make all the right decisions.
-That sounds like God trying to be a good one.
He IS a good one.
When you listen to the conch shells,
there are caverns.
Holding out for light,
like a kid holding out for life.
But if his heart washed in tides...

Would you still be there for him?
Knowing your shoes might get wet...
Because most never care until it affects them.
But we all float in the same ocean.
OPEN...your shorelines people.
Let DOWN your rocks.
Let the water wash up onto your feet.
There are some people that would give tsunamis of themselves...
Just to feel the touch of a person again.
They we people...
We still ARE people...
Who do not know what we are holding out for.
Like an ocean in it’s calmest.
Like the day Stephen Oliva passed away.

Reviews

[AK]

Very nice poem! I loved it! The last line was brilliant!

[Sheila Kline]

Absolutely beautiful! I am so glad you placed in the oceans contest so I could check out your poem and read it. A wonderful tribute in memorable verse with depth of emotion and thought that deeply touches my spirit!!