The waves crashed around the lighthouse
Peaks of turquoise leaping around the beacon
White foam jumped across the safe haven
As the first raindrops sent ripples across the indigo ocean.
Twilight shone a soft violet over the scene
And my words spun somewhere just off the shore
Catching in the eulogies of the wind
Floating into a song of desolate mourning.
I gazed out at the peaceful anarchy in dismal isolation
From the quiet cliffside that was slowly wasting away
Eroding, eventually turning to decay.
The oscillations ringing from my guitar cascaded out to sea
But the howls of the storm raging in the ocean
Drowned out my melody.
And if no one hears the song
Was it really played?
Or is it all a romantic illusion?
I throw stones into the blue
To fill the aching emptiness
But no matter how hard I try
They sink and end up engulfed
No matter how desperately I dream
Of them skimming across the water
Shades of cerulean bathing in moonlight
It remains an unfulfilled hope.
And if no one sees the painting
Can it truly be a masterpiece?
Or is it just a beautiful hallucination?
Does the stream struggling at my feet
Manage to make its way to the sea?
Will it weave into a river
Glide into a lagoon
Fly through waterfalls
Drift down dunes?
Or does it dwindle, dissipate and dry out
-Known solely by me?
If I dive carefree into the pools
Will I crash and crumble against shallow vanity
Or will I float, captivated by unknown elegance?
Are my whimsical ideologies deceptive or somehow grounded?
And if they are never discovered
Can they be destroyed unseen?
Or is it a hopeless vision?
Do I need a loudspeaker to be heard
Or are my words themselves simply enough?
Do I require metaphors for my message to have meaning
Or are my intentions self-sufficient?
Do my sonnets need to sail over seas to have any impact
Or is it enough that they are simply stated to the silence?
If a letter in a bottle is sent out yet never received
Was it truly written?
And if no one saw me was I ever here?
LD x ~ 19/8/20
YOU ARE READING
Loudspeaker
Poetry'... are my words enough?' Many themes and issues run through this collection, interwoven with each other, knitted between poems, so much so this is less of a collections of poems more of a continuous narrative. When I write, I'm constantly inspired...
