Just let go of the anchor and my cork will bob
To the surface. I don’t really need some harsh tool
To brute force my ascension from my deepest lows.
When my mood becomes weightless then upward it goes.
I do not have to work to recover my cool.
Just let go of the anchor is my only job.
Anchors are made of ‘issues’ that fester inside
Over time as unknowingly I give them weight.
With my focus upon them I grasp and hold on.
Then when I am pulled under I feel like a pawn.
Yet I know that my life is not governed by fate.
I can let go most willingly with the high tide.
I was meant to float freely on top of the sea
And not anchored to contrast as matter of course.
I am hogtied somewhat to this life as it seems
And as part of its seascape I’m one of its dreams.
I can feel undercurrents of increasing force.
I am made not for holding but letting things be.