Tired

It feels like my heart is tied to a braided jute rope,
Like a broken cleat left dangling off the boat,
And the propellers speeding out of control through the liquid enclave,
As my heart slaps to and fro over the transverse waves.

My crystalline mind lying gently on the surface of the ocean,
Whistling eerie echoes of ice, gentle tunes, harmonic motion,
The cosmetic shimmer glistening over it from the sunset gleam,
Now assaulted by the pollution of this maritime machinery.

The kinetic madness slicing aluminium shapes through the sea,
Submarined sounds of tempestuous rage shrieking “leave me be!”
The turbulence and speed blinded by the island direct along its periphery.
Boom! Crashed into the palm tree.

My washed up heart, beached, sand walled over its chambers,
Exhausted by these artificial vessels driven by traitors.
Seaweed ventricles bandaged to protect it from further dangers.

Tired. So tired. But at peace.