Am I the shore? Place to rest in sun
’til waters reflect.
I know it is not what I am
to you, but many.
Am I for the wandering?
Hide here in time-
Tear up on cliffs, let go, fall
deep in water.
With salty wounds shelter staring,
in a cave, between fires silhouette.
Morning comforts rise across an ocean;
Find fortune on those shores.
Sail in, out, and smile goodbye,
Our island fruit in parlour – stay strong
In heart and soul labours.
I ponder how people see others In their reflections peering back vibrating in frenzied pools. Perceptions of themselves not forgot. Forgo forgotten shores, hands of circles in circles spiralling compulsions of self as self defined? Can they see themselves in the hubris of humanity?
Understanding another comes in stillness of self, knowing circles and patterns definitions as perceived. Hand in hand – around and around. ~IW~
I see all this water as one,
though perhaps I am mistaken.
I recall a place where two oceans will not merge.
I don’t know the merging (or rather un-merging) point,
or even why it occurs – but I know it exists,
and I wonder if it is these? The Atlantic and Indian?
Or is it this sea that laps the shores of the continent
of the north and east of the Isle I now try to survive on?
The north sea I have not touched
except maybe through some one else’s fingertips.
Is she warmer than her other family?
Is she clean and fresh?
Does she merge easily with the currents
drift passed her caressing her sides?
Or is she like me?