I am of the sea,
starched, awash in brine,
battered, dizzy at the helm,
wind-whipped, countenance corroded,
sun-dried, hardened at the edges,
decaying, rough-hewn of the Ages,
replenish, inter me where the tide is High.
~ ~ ~
Immortal
disclaim me not
In mahogany nor pine,
but find me ashes
blowing in the Wind
~ ~ ~
Here
what is it my love,
this angel comes when the moon does not look
by stealth in the wee hours amidst the blackness,
finds my cheek and there her lips imprinted
for me to find at morn’s first light,
left to reassure,
to tell uncertainty will never overcome Me?
~ ~ ~
Moments
I grab them, trap them before they flee,
put them in my pen to recount them ‘ere I sleep,
moments of the day when hearts be one,
moments . . .
like treasure lost an eon,
re-discovered relics gold,
minted o’er Again
~ ~ ~