The wave beating solitary on the shore
every once in an aeon, comes an hour
when the fuzzy bundle of timelines
must collapse to a certain certitude
Long hours of labours past the dark nights
that have borne their ends but not far
speak in hushed voices of defeat
and surrender, and dejection,
that it is all over and what else but
There, in the distance is a brewing morass
a descent into chaos and death, a war
that has no winner but the abyss
factions ranged, outweighed not by
their arms but destiny
that now threatens to ****** away everything
that a people fought to preserve memories of
on the island where death rules the heart
this little patch of a shore
hidden away in the alcoves
the one hope of redemption
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 12:34 PM UTC
The wave beating solitary on the shore
every once in an aeon, comes an hour
when the fuzzy bundle of timelines
must collapse to a certain certitude
Long hours of labours past the dark nights
that have borne their ends but not far
speak in hushed voices of defeat
and surrender, and dejection,
that it is all over and what else but
There, in the distance is a brewing morass
a descent into chaos and death, a war
that has no winner but the abyss
factions ranged, outweighed not by
their arms but destiny
that now threatens to ****** away everything
that a people fought to preserve memories of
on the island where death rules the heart
this little patch of a shore
hidden away in the alcoves
the one hope of redemption
First poem of my new series, called the 'Golden Oars', which is the mystical story of the struggle of a spiritual and peaceful people for their survival on a mysterious island, where people live only on the shores in their youth and just disappear inland as they age.
Request permission to use this poem