Not a Tunnel So Much

  There is no tunnel,
  But there is a light.

  A tunnel shuttles you in a linear progression on your definite path,
  Be it pavement or track.
  A tunnel protects you from everything outside its walls,
  As you journey to the end.
  Instead of shoveling more on when maybe you’re done,
  Or too close to tell anyone.

  This was no tunnel,
  This was an ocean.

  Bottomless and with depth unimaginable.
  This was swimming toward the lighthouse as the current moved back,
  And forth mercilessly.
  This was the wind punishing my hubris for allowing me to soldier on,
  In the first place.

  As I crashed on the beach just another piece of detritus,
  Among the salt and water,
  I was not relieved from my trappings.
  The ocean itself clung to me and brought sand,
  Clinging to my skin.
  Dirty and tired from swimming,
  Arms numb and skin raw from floating at all.
  Survival can feel so much more costly than it’s worth.

  But there is a hope.
  My skin raw from the salt,
  And rippled from the water,
  My skin can finally feel the day,
  And it cleans me.

  My ocean is behind me at the longest last.
  If a tunnel lie ahead,
  I will hold my day within me.
  I will drink from my skin as I travel,
  Soaked from the ocean forever,
  I will count the tunnel, endless as it may be,
  As a luxury immeasurable.