Array ( [sid] => 168962 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Tides. Waves. [time] => 2011-12-02 01:18:11 [hometext] => I don't write poetry often. My first poem in a while. I hope you enjoy [bodytext] => Salty as it rises
from the far off line
that, it seems,
is always just distant enough.

Like an armory, they come
through. One by one
by one.
From far off, at the flat line
they come.
Rising. Rising. Rising.
Rushing.
Light starts to fall off,
right where it begins.
The light catches. Then flies.
Then falls.
Air fills. Whispering the peak.
For a moment, he stands.
Proud. He leans. He leans,
it seems,
a bit too far.

The shadow begins.
The gait hugs the dark.
Light moves with him.
A final salty breath
begins.
From the center.
He becomes full,
light catches the lip.
Light falls off.

Fluttering, spitting.
Crash.
Blue flies.
White throws
itself at her.
The fall.

A final salty breath.
Fills the crisp morning,
and comforts the night.
the moon is down.
Light lives.

Familiar crash.
To him, relief.
As he returns,
waning,
to the sea.
To the line that,
it seems,
is waiting
just close enough. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 90 [topic] => 73 [informant] => EricT [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => abstract ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Tides. Waves.


Tides. Waves.
Date: Friday, 2nd December 2011 @ 01:18:11 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: EricT
Salty as it rises
from the far off line
that, it seems,
is always just distant enough.

Like an armory, they come
through. One by one
by one.
From far off, at the flat line
they come.
Rising. Rising. Rising.
Rushing.
Light starts to fall off,
right where it begins.
The light catches. Then flies.
Then falls.
Air fills. Whispering the peak.
For a moment, he stands.
Proud. He leans. He leans,
it seems,
a bit too far.

The shadow begins.
The gait hugs the dark.
Light moves with him.
A final salty breath
begins.
From the center.
He becomes full,
light catches the lip.
Light falls off.

Fluttering, spitting.
Crash.
Blue flies.
White throws
itself at her.
The fall.

A final salty breath.
Fills the crisp morning,
and comforts the night.
the moon is down.
Light lives.

Familiar crash.
To him, relief.
As he returns,
waning,
to the sea.
To the line that,
it seems,
is waiting
just close enough.

This poem is Copyright © EricT


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