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Poem

The quiet washing sands of the sea
is where I go to be alone with the memories
of my soul
listening to waves waltzing with the shore
far from cluttered cities, filled with closed doors
and lonely people 
whose souls are as painted as their doors
My mind, the guardian of each recollection
I keep about the passage of time
holds court with its weeping shadows
that follow me without the sun

I pause, to watch a seagull glide to the horizon
on warm winds above an endless sea
Could that I be gliding on such winds
released from the memory of lost loves
whose faces haunt the stillness of life's interludes
as they never age
A curse from my gypsy heart from long ago
When no forgiveness was asked or given
for each love that was like a falling star
scorching the night skies, burning an image in the eyes
before disappearing into the darkness

To have known such loves felt its joys, its sadness
was as holding the birth of a flower's scent
opening in the morning's dusk covered in fresh dew
that drip upon the tongue 
alive as thunder in a burning sky
and as sensual as a moist first kiss, filled with hunger

Whether they remember me is unimportant
as I only passed through their lives
like a seagull gliding to the horizon
vanishing with the setting sun, holding these memories close
leaving only my footprints that wash away with the tide

5/1/20

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