At The Seashore with Watered Time

CATEGORY

life

Laying there at the shore,

My aloe ebony sheen body

Basking beneath palm shaded skies,

The naked winds deposited their coolness

Blending their echoes with the flowing tides’;

Struggling for contentment in solitude,

I looked out over waves whose watered ancestors

Once spilled onto these same shores with ancestors of mine.

In this agonizing beauty of cerulean sea

And salt hued sands, whispering ghost voices

Of those whose sound drowned at sea,

Shattered settled silence streaming stolen space.;

Gazing into the distance—east of the shore,

My eyes—through swelling tears—captured

A hued turtle emerging from mortal remains

Of a fallen, decaying coconut tree—

eyes stayed on the sea.

Slowly, but with determined effort, he scurried onward

Towards the ebbing tides with his free flapping feet—

Disappeared over the waiting horizon—liberated.

Refueled and energized with like determination and will,

I again clothed myself with undaunted courage and faith;

Belted with the hope the sea has in its waters, I anchored my soul

And returned to the struggle, assured that never has it been in vain;

Indeed, a pause at the seashore can be invigorating to the struggling spirit.

For has it not been written: “the workers of iniquity…shall soon be cut down…”

Yes.  And we, the captured chosen children of God, shall rise, as did the blessed Rose.