Once I sat upon a shore,
Where waves grasped at my feet with nature’s vigor,
And I watched the sun seep into sleep
Among the shadow the moon does weep
Upon the land, and evermore
Look upon that silver shore.
As I sat in sinking sand
I did look out for a land
Across the ocean, wherein I’d find
Something that could maybe bind
Me to my fleeting soul.
Maybe then I’d fit the mold?
Sadly those, whose lives are bland,
Are always those whose ambitious are equally grand.
Why must we all seem beached?
It is as if we have only breached
A single shadow of our potential,
Yet we’re left with what life will grant.
As I do open my eyes
The more I find that I despise,
The sullen golden sulking sun
That, from darkened beauty, always runs.
I now notice, while on this beach,
That fear, my love, does always leech.
So, as I on this coast do lay,
I swear “never again to waste away
From this life, for I give thanks
To the oceans calmly angered banks.
Maybe now I will find
The doorway to another tide.”
And I leave, I vanish, fleet
To find myself a new retreat.
Where or what or when is in ambiguity,
Yet, I shall know whence retreat I see,
And to man’s ungrateful wave
I shall no longer be a slave.
YOU ARE READING
Within the Catacombs of the Soul
Short Story"They who dream by day are cognizantof many things which escape those who dream only by night." Edgar Allan Poe. A collection of short stories and poems written over the years by Alexis Pool.
