Whispers

We stand in the half deserted sea
Our whispers washing
up on the sandy shore with oyster shells;
A fog rubs
its back upon the evening, lingering in tidal pools
Indeed there will
be time, but how much time;
The tide rises and drops, its salted fingers
rubbing, malingering brine
And would it have been worth it- pilings as
sentries of the sea.

Shall we say we have watched many smoked
stacked ships
and sailors in white pressed shirts
And the dooryard graves for listing vessels
in stormy weather
Heard muttering retreats of waves and the wailing
of winged gulls
We digress- let us go then to feel the breath of
trade winds and
the lamplight of the moon- in a minute there is
time, time to see

Once more the porcelain morning sky, to feel
once more the
currents scuttling along the sea floor- alas, we grow
old and gray
And ask, has it all been worthwhile, to have seen
the sunset as
the window of the day closes, the wind blow
waves white and
black- hear children’s voices wake us, muttering
complaints as mothers
call; do we dare, just one more time.

Copyright © 12/02/2016 lance sheridan®

wpnp

 

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