Scatter my ashes at Pemaquid Point,
Let the wind sail them home to the sea.
Cradle of life, be my cradle in death,
And set my spirit free.
Sun will warm the daylight hours;
The lighthouse illume the night;
Waves provide rhythm and gulls give voice---
Music to ease my flight.
Eternal rocks will form my tomb,
Sand my quilt shall be,
Protecting from shipwreck and raging storms,
And I’ll become one with the sea.
Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015
Cold and dark, the eyes of the depths
glaring at the stars above.
Few dare descend the steps
which reach down to oblivion’s cove.
Heavy, the desire for truth,
like the chains dragging my body further down
unto fate unknown.
Beyond recompense, lies the ruin
sunken to forbidden ground,
now home only to the strangest of creations
and catacomb to the drowned slaves of history.
Will all memories be as this one day?
Ghosts that haunt the corpses of humanity’s ambition?
Black are the bells that once chimed to announce omen.
Buried are the thoughts that walked my mind.
Broken are the tables where ideas once feasted.
Bound are the hopes, eaten by preying sharks of doubt.
Weighing down, the garments choke the breath of life.
There, where insanity was sane, beneath facade’s streams
lies truth, in the sea of forgotten dreams.
Copyright © Robyn Thomas | Year Posted 2013
My name is here,
But you'll not find me.
I am with my best friends
Near the clear, salt sea.
We are in the wind,
In the ocean's roar:
On the smooth, cool stones
Of some sandy shore.
We are in the waves,
As they break on the rocks.
Here time has no meaning,
The seasons are clocks.
We are never alone
In this place by the sea.
We are always together,
As good friends will be.
We did not decay:
Turn to rot, then to bone.
We're not part of the earth;
It is not our last home.
We've had a good laugh,
My old friends and me.
We've escaped the dark grave,
By the clear, salt sea.
© 2015 Diane Lefebvre
Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015
Exactly what was needed for
a wanderer of sandy shores,
ever full of hope, as fiery
as mountain flames, and eerily
it came to me; the darkened ghost
who glided softly over me.
And felt the cool of shining sea's,
it made a wild and song of me,
A man as lost and weak as I
who still waits, and wondering why
I forgot nothing she has said
or losing words I once had read,
When I remember.
Copyright © Jake A. | Year Posted 2015