Tension.

Longing;

What a mystery of tension.

Oh, my pliant contentment.

Oh, her echoes of yearning.

It is two voices singing in harmony;

it is two contrasting colors,

it is a give and a take,

it is a mirror to the tide,

it is predictable

as the skies of my home.

Perhaps, this is my fate,

as a man who lives with one ear

tilted toward his chest.

Perhaps, I shall ever swim in uncertainty,

and pull apart at the seams,

only to find caverns underneath.

Should I embrace my disarray?

Should I leave myself unfolded?

For I am not fully realized,

and yet,

I do not lack hope.