Only One of Sound

Silk slithers over slender legs,
Hissing as I step forth.
Everything feels frozen,
Yet it’s a warm night.
The earth is soft beneath bare feet,
Collecting between my toes
As I step forth,
Wandering through this living dream-world.

The moonlight filters through the leaves.
Willow, Oak, Yew.
It turns the gentle forest deep
From green into soft blue.
Silence almost reigns over,
Through the mist and downy moss.
I’m the only one of sound here.

It’s odd, because even though
I’ve no bearings –
(Wonderful feeling lost)
It’s all familiar,
This place, to me.

Look Back

As a child, he grew up
Watching the ocean.
Little waves crashed against the beach
At his feet,
He played in their white crests.

Each afternoon his father would leave
In his little anglers boat,
And bring home dinner
Before the clock struck 9.
The rest went to market.

And then he didn’t.
The boat washed up on the beach,
Wet, yet pristine and undamaged.
Poseidon’s cruel mockery
That wood is stronger than blood.
The boy’s father lay still beside it,
Cold to the touch, asleep.
He never woke up.

They pushed the boat out to sea,
The cool marine breeze of dawn
Wafting away the sweat on their neck.
The faithful fisherman
Lay at rest on the deck.
As the little anglers boat faded away,
The boy turned away from the ocean.
He never looked back.

That Illusive Silhouette

My wreckage lies
Cold, battered and bruised,
Forgotten on the forsaken shore.

Storms bring down the wind and rain,
Rough sea churns my brittle little boat,
Inevitably pulled to the rocks.
Crashed and Shattered.
Marooned.

A pebble on this chill beach,
Ground down by the violent ocean.
Into minuscule pieces of dust
That drifts on the wind.
Crushed as we watch the sunset.

Oddly
I’m the only one who watches
For a silhouette
On the horizon.

Distant Lights

Perennial.
Dry and dusty,
fine ashes on a well-trodden road,
deserted
By phantom feet of the past.
The ground is littered with prints
Trudging into oblivion.

The path rests, darkened
wainscoted by evergreens
In thick formation.
Hoary trunks pull away into mystery,
Hiding half-forgotten narratives.

A faint mist
Shrouds this seekers path.
As if the rain
began to ascend
Before it had the chance
to hit the ground.
Elderflower hangs in the fog,
A whispering scent.

Glimmers of distant sunlight
Bring hope to these tired legs.
(Maybe I’ll reach it if I keep going)
A teasing of warmth on cool, bare skin
Brings strength to persevere.
(No thought of stopping)

Moth to flame,
Pushing towards radiance,
At the end of an endless road.