Beachcomber
The
shores of sleep last night
Were not of soft white sand,
Strewn with intriguing driftwood,
Magical wave-smoothed rocks
And shining wine-coloured weed
Cast up from the deep.
No. The shores of sleep last night
Were strewn for miles
With the wrecks of dreams,
The hulks of hope
And fragments of fantasies,
Lying like beached and decaying whales.
Some looked whole and entire
Till I peered through portholes
And found them empty, no more than shells.
I would be a beachcomber,
Gathering material for my work
As I patrol this shoreline,
But I cannot work with this.
I will wait till the next storm
Washes the strand clean
Of cast-up wreckage
And leaves me with the flotsam
I can fashion and transform.
What are we doing?
Trying to build works of art from the wreckage of the subconscious?
Brilliant!
thanks!
Lovely and powerful imagery ..I write with a lot of sea in me also
http://themoonskinjournals.wordpress.com/the-moons-nectar/ there is one on this page that is called past I think…Anyway i have had nights like these as well…but they do pass as do all things ..
blessings to you ..
Thank you.
You do seem to use very similar themes and images which is comforting. It’s nice not to be alone in such things.
x
Thank you Viv! This really is I sliding and lovely! It is what I needed right now. Thank you!
Oops. I meant inspiring.