Without the Sea
The sun's beams penetrate me,
with fingers delving deeply beneath
the blanket of my surface
And the clouds rise up, as bitter as the
moon eclipsed sun, only to fall back
to earth, with life on the coat-tails of
every drop
On these benign waters rest the swimmers,
whose hearts I hear play the perfect beat
and whose skins I caress like a lovers breast,
encasing them in champagne bubbles.
Yet, they ravage me, savage me. Narcissists
seeking the elusive liquors of promised bounty
And, though I envelop the rocks at the edge
of man's domain, I hold from him the abyssal depths;
sparing him from his frailties, and hiding from him
my vanities
The rivers are my children, so easily breached
by the lifeless, upturned fibrous husks of acorn
shells,travelling along my viscous exterior.
Their David to my Goliath, making fools of
all my tributaries.
The seagulls flying above me, singing their
homages, drain away my windswept salt from
holes in their beaks. Like so much brine ejected
from salt-encrusted lakes
Like a harbinger of bad news, the moons tides
recede within me like elasticated yawns,
revealing the lost souls of battles ancient;
illuminating elysium's reflected glory
upon the silvery face of that Lunar watch keeper
Copyright © Terry Robinson | Year Posted 2015
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