Atlantis

Lately I've found it hard to write.

I wouldn't call it writer's block or lack of creativity, but more of a calm serenity that doesn't quite lend itself to art.

I don't know why exactly, except for the fact that I'm happy. Sometimes pain can provide just the artistic poison to fuel some really great writing. But it can also provide some really cliche sappy stuff too (Believe me, I've thrown out many a pathetic poem from those times).

Last night, however, in my groggy half asleep content state after class, I wrote something I really like. And it was fueled by the absence of pain. Or rather, the journey of going through the pain and still landing in a painless place... if that makes any sense at all.

Basically, sometimes you have to go through the pain and mess to be able to get to where you want to be. When people make the joke "You can't get there from here!" There is actually a lot of truth to that. I couldn't have gotten to where I am now without going through what I did. I didn't even know I wanted to be here back then, so I certainly couldn't have mapped out a route.

To get to the place of your dreams you may need to take an alternate, unplanned, sometimes painful way. The twisted way.

But when you get through it, suddenly the darkness subsides and the place you were looking for appears. So that is what this poem is about.


I didn't believe this harbor existed.
I thought it a myth, a fable.
But I can see it now that I've arrived.
This is more than a soft place to rest,
more than a passing whim.
I'll drop anchor in this place I thought hopeless.
I'll dive into the blue-green shimmer below
And leave the rest behind.
The sun itself seems cold and distant compared to this.
I'll put down my compass,
Take off my life jacket and surrender.
This place would not be possible without you.
Stay here and swim with me.
We can believe the unbelievable, and walk on water.