photo: Polperro, Cornwall, England.This is not their moment.
Asleep, the latent sea at bay
beckoned by tide,
small boats ride scaffold
in the abandonment of waves.
This is not their moment.
The regal nod and bob
a memory,
a dream for later,
a gift, as yet, unwrapped this day.
Exposed, proud repellers of elemental assault,
planks at the border-theatre of battle,
now mere sentries with time to waste.
This is not their moment.
The battling kisses of waves
peck other cheeks dispassionately,
or, in fervent assault,
test other craftsmanship.
Time has dominion here,
not tide,
and, in the moments of days,
ascendency is ordered
Asleep, the latent sea at bay
beckoned by tide,
small boats ride scaffold
in the abandonment of waves.
This is not their moment.
The regal nod and bob
a memory,
a dream for later,
a gift, as yet, unwrapped this day.
Exposed, proud repellers of elemental assault,
planks at the border-theatre of battle,
now mere sentries with time to waste.
This is not their moment.
The battling kisses of waves
peck other cheeks dispassionately,
or, in fervent assault,
test other craftsmanship.
Time has dominion here,
not tide,
and, in the moments of days,
ascendency is ordered
by its ebb and flow.
1 comment:
Thanks for this poem, and thanks to Cami for the comment that unlocks the poem for me. So often I've wanted my glory instead of the Lord's.
I like the phrase, "the abandonment of waves."
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