With His Beard Decked In Spittle

With his beard decked in spittle he came, Silently gliding into my heart, heaving So fiercely the air itself quivered, His arms outstretched in tremulous rage, Pinned to the sky like a crucified slave, In a fresh bout of awe we awoke, Faintly aware of a kiss blown to the ages, Scribbling with fury bottled-up letters We now dispatch to the shores Of a lost continent, where saints kneel And pray by this sea we created, Combing the jetsam for pebbles to skip, Like us, shells to be picked and thrown to and fro, Cursing a tide that comes and retreats And carries us over to a land long forsaken, A long ago time that we no longer know, Our memories lost to the ocean, dark surf Breaking on the reefs of our lives (for death comes in waves); Night gently lays its shroud upon us, pumping pain In the face of time, until in time's measure We finally go.