Don't know about the execution here. Also, that is very much a working title.
Crit for crit, of course.

I came upon an ocean;
a flowing, sweeping sea
of everything, radiant and calm,
yet subtly vital, waiting there.
I walked to the edge
to greet it, and test.
It rose up, as if it knew me,
and wanted to extend
in a gracious surge of welcome.
So I took the hand it offered,
and felt it was more perfect
than anything I’ve ever known.
The warmth of it came glowing
up and in, through and around
and, briefly, I was me.

My hand was a conduit,
I the idling engine,
and I knew that if I could turn over
then I could make this mass of
potential flare into life and light.
It was clearer than anything;
I could see right to the darkest heart.
All the strength and grace,
all the destruction and treachery
all the gentleness and cruelty in me,
It all flowed and eddied there.
There was nothing I could do
but immerse myself in it.

All this I saw as I stood
and prepared to dive on in.
I took a breath - and hesitated.
To see so much, so quickly...
It overwhelmed me, and I was unsure.
so I waited, just a moment, to steady.
But as I stood and reasoned, I felt a chill.
It was quick, and deep, and certain.
There was such a stillness, suddenly,
like I have never known,
and hope never to know again.
Because the sea had frozen over.
Its ceaseless, welcoming waves
were halted, no longer beckoning.
I stood still and I watched
For what I knew wouldn’t come.

I was cold and weary
and I hated the stillness,
so I came home, and sit here remembering
the sea, and how I felt in its warmth,
how far my vision ran,
and how much truth I could tell.
God, do I hate the cold.