At The Seashore With Watered Time

CATEGORY

just different

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
Spilled onto these same shores with ancestors of mine;

In this agonizing beauty of a cerulean sea
And salt hued sands, whispering ghost voices
Of those who 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 dark-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.