Old Kwaki

Old Kwaki

Bigger than me, but rests within.

It’s a flick of the tail. Tip of the fin.

The swimming giant feels my pain.

The one who lends voice to my rage.

No deity, no apparition.

All I’ve got to do is listen

And I can hear his haunting song

Forever, the melody of what we are.

But I guess he’s mine, just a tortured slave

Rocking to the rhythm of the ancient waves

Locked in the prison of my own ribcage.

Bending and twisting as he slips away,

Down to the bottom of an icy grave.

And maybe one day, with precious patience, I’ll come to find

Just how tired Old Kwaki held on all this time.

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