In a wall of foam,
I am…

The foam is so elaborate
that its bubbles recreate
my life in an instant
of scientific bliss.

Pumping out
of my heart
is the foam.

It is the
loving nature
of the ocean
blasting
into the shore.

It is
the one guilty
of producing
the wall of foam
out of the past.

I am sitting
in a wall
of foam.

It is lost
memories
diluting
the force
of the ocean
into the vastness
of imagination
after being pumped
out of my heart.

Careless,
I fall into
the abysm
that holds
the walls
of history.

I empty
my crazy mind
from ridicule facts:
of pain and of rain,
so drastically
that renewal
takes my place.

Death of the lament
makes entrance
into my arteries
because
I am
the trail of life
diluting
into events
I call facts.

I become
aware
of the ocean
that lives
within
my beats.

Pumping
into my heart
is joy.

I am the one
who creates
the foam
out of truth.

No more
sitting,
only
giving.

The wall of foam
formed
out of my heart
because I was
the ocean
blasting
into my lungs
unaware
that my heart
was always
living in bliss.