Monday, 14 January 2013

Not Like Dolphins

Moving on from heartbreak, 
Means "letting go..", 
And "moving on..". 

Seize the day; 
Don't look back; 
Earth still has plenty of fish, 
In the sea. 

So move on, 
Because we still have fishes - plenty of them, 
And they're in the sea. 

So watch a film, 
Sob to the songs, 
Eat some more chocolate, and, 
Learn to breathe underwater. 
Get out, 
Cultivate an interest: 
Swim like a shark.
Grow and abdominise some gills. 

I wonder though, 
When a dolphin is heartbroken, 
Do other dolphins gather round, circling, consoling: 
"Let it go, 
There are plenty of humans on the land... 
You just need a good night out." 
I doubt it: 
Dolphins, warm-blooded,
possess highly intuituitive, sensitive empathic abilities. 
Imagine a moping dolphin being cajolled to get pissed to get laid after a curry, 
Or to cheer up because there are plenty of cold fish on the land.. 

No, dolphins would float beside you, gliding lowly above the coral; 
They would weep the quiet with you; 
They would listen; 
They would communicate:
They would understand. 

Would dolphins, though, understand simply letting go, knowing, 
That that thing you once had: 
That special someone, who, once upon a time 
unlocked the moonlight behind your eyes, 
Who guided you to the enchanted and illuminated enchanted forest, 
Really didn't amount to that much? 
See, it was all just an illusion. 
So you should feel okay then. 
You have moved on - again. 
You're as shiny as tin foil glittering translucent beneath the waves. 

And your friends apparently never liked them that much anyway, 
They offer by way of support. 

The heartbreak, 
Plays on. 
Memories, and all their meaning,
You have just let go of, like that - 

Because it's time. 
Seriously, it's about time now, 
You moved on. 
You owe it to yourself don't you?. 

Downsize your depth out here in the sea, 
And if you don't boil down your memories, 
You are only indulging in sentimentality, 
And nostalgia. 

Thus the unalloyed truth pierces the body-polished armour not even a scratch. 
And the treaded water booms to the galley-slave drum.