It is a strange feeling to keep on finding something that was never lost, To feel all over again those stirrings of wonder and awe, To have the thick fingered fumbles as you reach for your flag, Driving it deep into the ground, all the while thinking to yourself, "I have been blessed with good fortune, how lucky I am" Surveying with pride the surrounds of your backyard. . Such is the pattern with me and the beach. . You see I live on its shores, drive past its wheeling dances, Every morning on my way to work, and every night, I trek past its star-worships as well. But it is months, months before I stop to truly listen, To be quiet and gasp appreaciatively at the magic drenching elements. That is, Until the strangness comes upon me, As it has done this day, And I fall silent to let the gears slowly wind down. Truly, It is hard to comprehend how I could let the strands slip, Their velvet smoothness, even now, sinuously caressing my mind, Sanding away the rough edges of arguments and fights, Injustices and impotent rage that somehow I carry, Without ever really knowing how heavy they were. . These times begin, With the horizion and its tableau, Fading out the endings of sea and sky, And swimming along the lines, the ranks of clouds, Such vastness confined to comprehension by distance. To stare at them is to lose yourself in some special way, To feel the hinting's of eternity sweep away what moments before, Had been the hugeness of life. I don't understand but I can be touched, As sometmies a blind man might dream, by the peace to be found there. The sky as it always has casts its palm over me, But now it seems rounded, a domed protection, Perceptions of its crystal fragilness becoming clear, Forver could never be holed, what I sense now, can. The wind kicks off the surf, ruffling my pages as I think about this, But I don't mind, Or that my clothes are playfully animated in its presence, It reminds of an impatient child, the fullness of its daily given might, Always contained in whatever it does, no compromise to it, No bending to others will, it has the joy of giving its all, And I can hear the bubbling laughter of that, A perpetual echo to my hearing, I can't help but smile, I was once like that too. I turn my attention to sea, for it seems more tractible, Fluent like a thousand pennies cast, The combinations of surf rippling acorss its surface. It has a voice, as everybody knows, but now being still, There is the fancy that perhaps I can make out the words, Like muffled language from another country, If I only I listen hard enough. But that's not my cause to champion today, I am happy with the lullaby murmers, They are quite enough for me. . Time really has no meaning during all of this, I am aware that it passes, like I am aware, Of the liquid people that stream across the foreground, But they, it, are removed, One step away and I wonder suddenly, If that is why I forget, For here I am fractions askance, Perhaps, Perhaps. But I also realise now with the pattern of these words, That I have been doing it all wrong, And when I finally pack up, (So hard to leave this bubble), I will take a flag from this day, - this poem, And plant it, Firmly, In my home.
Reason for writing:
As it was described by somebody else :
Pure hedonisim, like having a conversation with yourself
in the mirror while wearing a super-man cape.
Exactly what i was hoping to capture.
Birth sign: Virgo
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