The shark in the blue box...

I was going through my journals. I have been keeping journals since I was 18, and before that, I wrote on loose paper and stored them in a blue box. At age 10, someone gave me a gift of a crucifix in that blue box. I no longer have the crucifix, but that blue box has been with me for over 50 years.

Inside that box are my letters to Paul McCartney, my thoughts of first love, poetry, stories I wrote to read to my siblings (Rothchild's Ruins) and various other treasures cherished by a preteen.

The last few days, thinking about Dad, have been rough. For some reason, a poem I wrote back in high school with my best friend, came to my mind. I went to my blue box and found it. It is pretty intense and dark, but we felt that way a lot in high school...I also had a morbid fascination of sharks and read obsessively about them.

I am the shark.

The deep dark waters of the night,

Ripple away the earth.

The weed of the sea,

Plants its black roots in the remains.

Sun casts my sight,

To find the way of sleep.

And wooden ships my fear,

Red puddles flow for me.

Squirming flesh crawls 'til surface,

Haunting screams my eternity.

Hunger my searching nightmare.

Rock is my home.

Pearls my prey.

Shells are the shoulders of my past.

The pound of the waves hides a treasure,

Opened only to the dive of time.

My kind weaves the wind that pulls the sail,

And latches the quiet of each man's rug.

There were many ways to interpret those words...and I would be interested in your interpretations, so please comment...

Yet, after all these years, the poem came back to me and brought comfort to my soul...