Perhaps.
Inside the roar where water meets land,
where sound supplants all but the tumble
of pebbles on sand there exits troubles of
ongoing concerns, leaving only beginning
or ending with any distinction.
This mysterious boundary of frenzy and
clash with sting of saline drying my face
waves crash their fury against lying past
for within screaming winds lies changed
conception of waiting existence.
By the time breakers are silenced having
suffused their force onto the broad lap of
shore there appears on the brink of rising
confusion more promise of ship's return
with no more sea resistance.
Perhaps the tumultuous love we shared
before will be resumed breaking months
of lonely into bubbling excitement as fate
becomes drenched in emotional rises for
ebbs die with fervent persistence.
Spliced together at last our vows made in
deepest waters leaves shallows to find a
rest with tighter union, binding the sight
to sound of sea we should live best a life
without constant heaving.
Come home then my sailor safely to me.
-
Author:
Fay Slimm. (
Offline) - Published: May 2nd, 2017 07:59
- Comment from author about the poem: I intended in writing words of such imagery to express female anxiety in this note from the journal of a sailor's sweetheart.
- Category: Letter
- Views: 40
Offline)
Comments2
Some read woven in your usual magical style.
Here where I live there is, on much older homes, an architectural phenomenon called a "Widow's Walk."
Basically its a small porch high up on the structure allowing access for the woman to view the seaward horizon, looking for her husband's ship returning. Some never did, thus "Widow's Walk." Your poem so reminded me of this. I believe that means your message was well received. And it came wrapped in glorious words. Great poem. - Phil A.
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