Of Clocks and CloudsA Poem by Craig Froman
For any who have ever felt shackled in their circumstances...
The door to the old Inn screeches open, shedding veiled light on the figure approaching.
“Your eyes glimpse only yesterday, my friend. Where is today in your vision?” he says.
“Yesterday is all I have of value... How I want to exit here. Life is like the seas’ sand; beaten and lifeless.” He turns from me and lifts his hand toward the tide, framed in dusty glass.
“To your simple existence, do not boast;
merely to breathe or move or think is not to live.
The shore of the sea is but a ghost,
compared to the depth its wholeness gives.
You exist in the miry foam;
make the ocean depths your home.”
Smoked and shady gray light reflects from the counter. Raven guests drift past slowly in silence as the sea cries.
“You don’t understand,” I say. “You don’t understand these chains:
I long to drift through turquoise skies;
race the wind in rampant flight.
Ruddy chains have framed my eyes,
they seize my heart and stain the light.”
He turns to walk toward the door then speaks. “How many waves will beat this shore until you breathe your last? These chains will bind unendingly, unless you kill your past.” Turning his eyes toward mine he says, “Let it go…you must let it go.”
At this, he passes through the Inn’s door into shimmering amber. Pillars of celestial light support the roof of clouds and mist, scattering shadowed shapes across the horizon.
The golden ball of fire brings warmth again.
How I wish the sallow heat could
take this lonely man.
The breeze, a song, plays through the
rustling sand grass and hollow.
A tune played over memories’ dust sweetens the air.
The days have been wind; the weeks as moving air. Oh, that the clocks ever changing face might rest for only a moment, or cease for all time.
Oh, is not eternity an everlasting moment?
If only I could touch silent stillness, but the waves are endless. Each wave brings the clock a new face. How it ages so across the tortured tide. Fire cascades from heaven as the sun begins its morning reign, swallowing streaked shadows like a ravenous snake.
I walk to the waves, watching them wash clean the face of the shore, and I feel an echo flood over me. “Make the ocean depths your home…”
© 2012 Craig Froman
Shelved in 5 LibrariesAdded on May 26, 2012
Last Updated on May 27, 2012
Small town, AR
AboutWe don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, eng.. more..
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