Post by AquarianM on Feb 3, 2004 at 8:14am
I Walk The Shore:
The sand is buried deep now,
Drifted under soft illustrious white particles,
The grass is tawny but arisen,
Waving in the winter winds a reminder,
The waves are stark grey blue now,
The ice is piling along the shoreline and buckling rough,
The wind whips through bared trees howling,
Each footstep I take I pull cloth tighter,
Shivering in Winter's solace I look within,
Connnecting to the source my footprints melt behind me,
No castle will I make upon this shore,
Nor footfall into water,
Yet I walk here and it's the underside of Heaven,
Somewhere only the wind speaks to me,
Begging peace and harmony and a place to call home,
Howling in gunmetal desperation,
I hear the voice of God in a whisper,
But my ears are chilled numb to the bone,
Still the waving grass and heaving water sparks me,
Ice blue dreams of summers to come,
Perhaps too long and too soon,
And I wonder at the miracle I might miss,
If I never looked in Winter's pretty blue-white face?
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/03/2004
Author's Comments:
A fantasy of walking the beach along the Southern shores of Lake Michigan on a day like today - mixed with wonder at the thought that such days might cease to exist should Global Warming truly come to pass.
The sand is buried deep now,
Drifted under soft illustrious white particles,
The grass is tawny but arisen,
Waving in the winter winds a reminder,
The waves are stark grey blue now,
The ice is piling along the shoreline and buckling rough,
The wind whips through bared trees howling,
Each footstep I take I pull cloth tighter,
Shivering in Winter's solace I look within,
Connnecting to the source my footprints melt behind me,
No castle will I make upon this shore,
Nor footfall into water,
Yet I walk here and it's the underside of Heaven,
Somewhere only the wind speaks to me,
Begging peace and harmony and a place to call home,
Howling in gunmetal desperation,
I hear the voice of God in a whisper,
But my ears are chilled numb to the bone,
Still the waving grass and heaving water sparks me,
Ice blue dreams of summers to come,
Perhaps too long and too soon,
And I wonder at the miracle I might miss,
If I never looked in Winter's pretty blue-white face?
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/03/2004
Author's Comments:
A fantasy of walking the beach along the Southern shores of Lake Michigan on a day like today - mixed with wonder at the thought that such days might cease to exist should Global Warming truly come to pass.