The Fish (poem)

Upon the lowest sands of the sun starved ocean, I am tall and I think small thoughts and ideas. The idea has perplexed even the greatest minds, and the calcium cavities beseech even the strongest of thoughts. It is here that I am now, I have found myself in this place. This lowest pier of the golden sunlit part. And my mind is in perpetual motion, thinking of this activity.

When will I think no more? When will my thoughts cease to be? Indeed, I am only a pawn in this mortal game. The machinations are always turning stronger and steadier, and the fish is never aware of the stream that it swims in.

I will but drift upon this stream, this rolling wave of societal motion, and the movement of these mechanical automatons will cease once the stream is done. Automatons cannot survive in water, and water cannot accept that which is unnatural. Perhaps when that fateful moment arrives, I will reach a resting place and the fish will come to know what water is. When the time comes, the sea will act as gravity towards those who dream of the sun.

It is one thing to be aware that you do something, and it is another to be aware of what you do.

It is one thing to say something, and it is another to be aware of what you say.

It is one thing to believe in something, and it is another to be aware of what you believe.

It is one thing to dream of something, and it is another to dream of what you say.

Like a mouse biting wire, like a defendant speaking fearfully, like a parrot repeating rhetoric, like a dreamer dreaming seldom.

It is the sun that burns when I dream the brightest, and it is the sea that swells when my dreams are lucid. It is the sea that accepts me, for I am a fish. It is the stream that turns, for I am a stone. It is the water that matters, for without it I am not. It is the moon that moves me, for I am but a slave. So I'll dream no more, and I'll drift upon this stream until I reach the final resting place.

Then the sky will act as gravity towards those who dream of day, and not of twilight. Has a fish ever seen light untouched and unfiltered? And if a fish should desire flight, would it have the power to sprout wings through that longing? Perhaps one day, all my questions will be answered, and I will at last find what there is to see beyond the sea. But maybe the thought is not meant for me, it is my unending hope that I am indeed a fish.

The veil of water is blinding, but beyond it I will at last find what it means to be. I will at last find what it is to know. Knowledge is given to the courageous fish who dares to jump above the breadth of the water, and the breath of air brings insight to those who dare to comprehend. Truth will never be acceptable to everyone, but truth doesn't concede. The sea will be the master of all those who live in it, but the sky will always bear little weight to those willing to accept its truth. This is the reason why wings are made of feathers.

You are not falling when you jump to accept the light, no matter the height you must first reach in order to grasp it. This is the way that I see the world. And as Christ saw men like fish caught in a net, it is an important metaphor worth acknowledging when traversing the waters.

It is one thing to be aware that you are something, and it is another to be aware of what you appear to be.

It is one thing to imply something, and it is another to carefully choose the words that you say.

It is one thing to believe in something, and it is another to follow your convictions like steady waters.

I am but a slave to my stream, and I will not stray from its course.