Soar

From opposite island shore, I'd quietly watched your waters curve and fall. And adoring the sound of aqua, I bridges crossed, and crawled on board, not knowing the difference between dive and drown. I was half ready, to behold depth or lose breath, but enthused nonetheless, because I beautifully boroughs leapt. Yet in the escapades of wading through your waves, I failed to realize that most fires squelch, once become wet. Still thinking we kept similar perspective, the shared sorrows of sinking ship, I let submerge my passion's breadth with an assimilated reluctance. Then one day, after years adrift, I felt a shift, like a faint sense of earth's rotation beneath my self. And as I glanced over, the distance between shore and water extended, and called out to me desert winds instead, desiring to carry dark haired rebel back to states of transcendence. Through prayers made for me with palms connected, I soon found myself, standing across the bridges end, riddled with deep and dry reflection, and a mirrored image that now afforded me recollection of both sides of the coin. And even though choosing heads and tails was not in my hands, the private designs of life's mystique printed on me have always remained, like tribal henna proclaimed. For some gardens we lay amid, and others we are ourselves. And truly we would not have remembered our prowess had they not made us recall, that some flowers survive thousand leagues under the sea, and some there may suffocate all along. And surely we would not know freedom, till someone did not throw us out from water back into sapphire air to soar. For unbeknownst, we had been flipped inside out, with flame doused, but were always phoenix flared, firecracker waiting to burst, longing to be awoken from nautical lair, to be strewn like charcoal ashes, like kajal wild in eyes smeared, into the great unknown...