Escaping captivity

I am swimming across a vast, threatening channel.

The water is cold and dark.

The current moves me more than I manage to move across it.

I see lights at the far shore, appearing just when I need to see them the most.

I swim, and swim, and swim, until I just need to rest.

I just need to close my eyes against the tide, and the force that pulls at me.

And then I wake and I fight to keep swimming,

because that is all that I can do to stay afloat.

I cannot go under.

I allow myself to dream of the shore and that safety.

I was there, once.

I left the shore, and the warmth of safety on my own accord.

And, now, having become immersed in the dark channel between that time

—the shore; warmth; life; people—

and another life, I know that to keep swimming is the only way.

The closer I feel I may be getting to the safety of the shore,

the more deeply I feel the deep

reaching to pull me under

and to rally it’s monsters to converge at my back

and devour me wholly.

I am lost at sea.

I am missing in place.

I am racing to freedom from my captor.

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