A body of water depths below
cold with plant life,
tread steady, sooner
or later, I'll
make it over there,
I mean-
I've always been a
strong swimmer.
Life. What do I know?
It's here, we live it and
then we die.
It's not fun most times,
hardly anytime,
but when it is,
well it's worth all the hell in the world.
Wisdom of
ancient riddles,
tricks to happiness in
life, and thereafter. . .
For the Smart People,
ones who "GET IT":
it's all swell really,
but. . . I see a
difference;
"your wisdom
mattered to me
only after
you were dead."
Talk to me in
transcendental
meditations,
concentrating solely
on mandalas,
tattooed inside
my subconcious mind. . .
I'd love to see them.
I keep holding out
for a someday soon,
maybe that'll be tomorrow.
it wasn't yesterday.
Not even today.
I'll understand
things better,
will learn to forgive
move on
from here. . .
sink or swim
I'm not one for sinking.
Adding your comment:
Now, if I replace the image above with the one the contest is about and read your poem...I can say, it still would fit...sort of...if you ignore the water 
