Bubbles

A poem by Isabelle Sorrells


The berth of my death

Is warm

And cerulean

With light cast down into its depths in beams.

It would’ve been an amazing place

Had it not also been my grave.

The surface too far away,

My strength gone,

I start to give in to the peace under the air.

But you swim to my rescue,

And we burst through the surface together.

If not for your bubbles,

I would’ve been lost

To those warm, blue waters.

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