Untitled
Just some reflections
Borne above the ancient surf
Which washes all the words away
And cleans the shore of many thoughts
'Til only strongest clung remain,
The statue sits alone in bronze-
-cast, facing into the pressing gale.
A wave of crash and slosh and wash,
Rose from sharpened weathered rock,
And spoke their lines upon the cast
Of wing and beak and eye so bright -
Thus assaulted the beacon stands
As platitudes tumble back towards the sea,
"The Immortal," reads inscription thus,
"Who looks out upon the infinite;
Holds firm against the endless tide,
And waits in silence when storms subside..."
The rest is worn away by age,
Or perhaps was never there at all.
Instead a whisper on the wind,
Forms a rumor from the water,
Of a time when all the jagged rock
Was smooth and bore both earth and grass.
A Bird swooped down and landed there,
And stared into the ocean, blue.
"Dolphin, dolphin, where are you?
Once departed from this fair shore,
Perhaps never to be seen once more?
I take my perch upon this sea,
Will wait a Winter's worth for thee."
Ocean took the flier's words.
Winter came and snow blew down,
The sea sprayed icicles in his face,
Still the bird did not despair,
For torment here was no disgrace,
His talons fixed their steely grip,
And his feet did freeze in place that year,
Spring did pass and the beak proclaimed:
"Dolphin, dolphin, where are you?
Once departed from this fair shore,
Perhaps never to be seen once more?
I take my perch upon this sea,
Will wait a Summer's worth for thee."
The seas did calm over nights and days,
And skies did clear and clouds depart,
The sun shone down with greatest joy,
Warming the bird until he was dry,
But merciless sun did not stop there,
And the bird was baked stiff without a care.
"Dolphin, dolphin, where are you?"
The bird croaked as he cried anew,
"Once departed from this fair shore,
Perhaps never to be seen once more?
I take my perch upon this sea,
Will wait forever and a day, for thee."
The rest the ocean will not say,
It hides its secrets and stories away,
Buries beneath the surf and foam
A world of lore and sunken tome.
Perhaps it's best it ended there,
The truth, in truth, is rarely fair,
But I like to believe the dolphin came,
And words made sea and bird quite tame,
Told wonderful stories of far-off shores,
Where fanciful delight never bores,
Where lives are lived to full extent,
And what is said is always meant.
And perhaps then when all was told,
He'd flip his flukes and be so bold
To straddle deeper waters still,
Following his never-ending will,
And though the bird may silently remain,
He'll have faith and cry out to see his dolphin again,