Swimming, a poem

Swimming

As the shark that must keep swimming

(yes, I know that is a fable),

so I could not breathe were I

motionless, no longer able

to move forward. Soon enough comes

rest and then we move no more,

strive no longer. In its time,

in its time, and not before,

shall I so rest. A mindless hunger

drives the shark: to eat, to mate,

to continue. That is all.

My seas are not so clear. My fate

is in these currents, bearing me

across the days I may not number.

No scent of blood has kept me swimming,

drawn me from the shores of slumber

I so fear; no, naught but my own

need to span the night, complete

this journey, swim till there is no

more need. Swim on till each defeat

and victory has faded, slipped

beyond the grasp of all the fates,

into dark, elusive depths,

and only an end awaits.

Stephen Brooke ©2016

This is one of those poems where the words moved it along more than any concept or idea I might have had. Structured poetry, especially rhymed poetry, can be like that.