Someone Like Me {Poetry}

Recollect My Sea

                I stand

{ I shake awake }

                By the by

{ Imagining the dried tides }

                Wondering

{ Listening and fading }

                Whether the weather

{ A side, a humble feather }

                Will bear to-day bare winds

{ Or lustrous skin }

                And cause waves to soar

{ Crash, shatter, thrash }

                Like blue of a bruise or sore

{ Waiting, watching for more }

                And see the sea

{ A shadowed me }

                Stumble in its wake

{ And break me }

                To rid of the weight

{ A trait of state }

                Hitching it to cool temper

{ Whirring with a sweet blur }

                And like a horse

{ Forcing its swift source }

                It would give a hoarse roar

{ Four score or more of drops }

                As it began to slay

{ Constructing a day's jay }

                The artificial sleigh of sand

 {A land of tanned stripes }

                Now foaming at its mouth

{ A drought to the south }

                And travel in freedom for a week

{ A creek of weekly peaks }

                Till the tempest grew weak

{ A streak of speaking seekers }

                Sometimes it heard

{ Spurred and stirred }

                The rest of the herd of waves

{ A black sun away }

                And this would give it strength

{ A wavelength of circles and shapes }

                To double back

{ A slacking lack of stars, rippling words }

                To the beach

{ A breaching shore of hidden promise }

                The sleigh crafted of beech

{ A taught lesson out of reach }

                And piece by part

{ A chart of artful hearts }

                Peace would gather

{ Myrrh, fanciful wings alight }

                In the shallows

{ A glowing, knowing patch of light }

                But yet it still threw

{ A screw of hued dew }

                Occasional shells

{ Cells of telling spells }

                Through the rifting water

{ An acre of angered amber }

                And coarse sailor rope

{ Sloping coping links of natural fibers }

                Of course.

{ Resourceful endorsed colors of night }

                But in the morning

{ Clinging asking clairvoyant dawns }

                It would be in mourning

{ Angling aging simple times }

                Of its decision to return

{ Burning its yawning beginnings }

                To the dull shore and sleigh

{ Flaying spraying staying currents of warmth ]

                And the next storm

{ Normal swarms of turbulent air }

                Would start again