Floundering…
In a sea of space, gasping for air, reaching out for something that floats.
Desperately grasping for anything with buoyancy.
What shall be our fate?

Our fingers find something in the dread of the night.
We vow to hold on for our entire dear life.
With the coming of light our buoyant delight reveals itself as:
No more than barely floating trash.

Were you lucky enough to grab on to?
Another’s raft; some mans luxury yacht.
Has the light even reached your sight?
Do you even know, to what it is you cling?

Holding fast to precious trash;
We bob along on the sewer floatsam of humanity.

Even the strong mans yaht is in reality been caught.
Enjoy your high and dry ride for a time.
Now that our head is afloat we can do without a big boat.

From the lofty crows nest it is a long, long fall.
From here in the sea, we can learn to crawl.

With course firmly in view and nothing more to do.
The fear of drowning no longer, overwhelming.
Release my floating trash and vow to save my own ass.

Renewed resolve and ignoring the despeciable, destracting buoyant trash.
Some meager progress is achieved.

Those who are drowning
Those riding lucky on some yaht.
Quickly sense you no longer drowning.
They turn to you in their terror.

Tagging along in your wake.
Weighing you down or buoying you up.
The terror of drowning dictates;
To flounder and drown or learn to swim on our own.

Getting into a rhythm, no longer fighting the sea.
Next you pause to breathe; find yourself up out of the sea.
With friends along.
A flotilla compiled and you yourself the pilot.

The course is firmly laid in.
We have learned more than merely how to swim.
Time to relax and engage the autopilot my friend.