POEM TITLE waves
POEM
Waves are like angels near
But never reaching
The threshold of Blackness
On sea. Spirits tales are
Told, lighting up darkness
Of the dreaming sea, they
Mistake water for glass
And seek form, mass,
Sand for an hourglass,
They were grains of
Sand blown into the eyes
Of time. Winds
Blowing through this
Coastal town are like
The hands on the face
Of blind man sleeping,
Crying for beauty, who
Holds pearl in his palm,
After dreaming of the
Hunt for years.
How many drinkers in
The lobster pot on
Their final dram have
Heard the echoing slam
Of heaven's door.
This public house stores
Tales, some are immortalised
By winter who rows on
Heaven's tides. Perhaps somewhere angels
Have a toast to Blackness
On sea with goblets
Containing every ocean, watching it at night
Changing form, mermaid
Balancing drinks on her halo.
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