funneled swirl my feet nailed six feet below, ray'd sun visioned a foot away, panicked hands stroke the air, feared eyes look four minutes ahead, tiny handfuls of air swallowed, ah the whirlpool's stopped, beautiful light, pleasured thought as i took my first watered breath, we became one within each other, a welcomed peace i've never felt, my second breath lighter than the first, on the third it spat me out as i floated to shore leaving that peace behind!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2009
About this poem:
In the mountains of northern British Columbia a canoe trip that almost took me. july 15 1982. The peace i talk about is the transitional peace that i believe's not attainable until moments before you die.
Ty Jazzy, an yes through experience perspective changes. As did mine, to drown's peaceful and knowing, to die in your sleep's peaceful, yet perhaps not knowing. . . . hmmm. Ty for your comment:)
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