On the Other Side
`
From a weary weathered beach
I watch the sunset fade
beneath angry wintered seas
drowning possibilities
of another moonlit night
washing up on shore
and still I go on,
for what calls can not be heard,
it must be felt…and I feel it
Vivid reflections falter
atop a jet stream
heated from below, chilled from above,
willing feats of great wandering
when raindrops licked old wounds
and footprints
became yesterday’s puddles
Forgotten mariners,
ghostly silhouettes
cling to ancient dreams,
shadows swimming the deep hollows,
elusive treasures swallowed
by the disturbed mire,
swirling in slipknot patterns
and anchor chains apparitions,
as I now brace against a frigid wind,
traversing dunes
and snow fence barriers,
heading towards the light,
a flickering lone candle
left in the bay window,
a signal that her love
still awaits,
and my heart warms
as I approach the beauty
I have so longed,
on the other side of
a blue weathered door…
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017
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