Your Move

Past civilizations submerged by the sea are allegorical of present societies that are weighted and anchored by their corrupt convictions, finding themselves grounded on what is now a murky sea floor, where oil meets wave and an undertow of 99 cent plastic perpetuates their only substantial ruins for history's log. Their anchor of conviction is stubborn enough to risk the lives of all who cling to it as the sea rushes over. Those choosing to let go and rise for surface, rise for fresh air—leaving those old etched-out surfaces to be worn and swept away by powerful tides of new and changing currents. May the waters ever recede: a cleansed soul will be reveled at through their eyes. Only the modern plastic ruins will have washed away, leaving the sacred stones of the ancients to remain for history's teachings. And then, once again, we choose our influence and we rebuild.

Flames

We slept in flames. 

Both singed and 

tortured by denial, 

sexual smoldering embers 

turned charred black ashes. 

We burned.