Wreck
Those that were and went before
are waiting, wailing by the shore;
amid the rope and shattered timbers
all that mattered lies in tatters,
all that mattered is no more.
One foot behind, one step ahead,
the small shrill voices in his head
as wind across a lifeless reach
still pull him to the rocky beach
where all is seeming in his dreaming
all is seeming ever lost.
Beyond the reach of human speech
he stumbles down the storm swept beach
and strikes the waves that block his way
but they in turn, round back on him;
they do not pause and will not stay
but take him in a fierce embrace.
Soon all is done and all is calm
for mercy folds his flailing arms
and lowers to a gentle bed
below the fury overhead;
and in that silence, in that place
of perfect love and endless grace,
father, son, float face to face.
Copyright © Florian Beauchamp | Year Posted 2012
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