Footprint

Barefoot on the sand.

He whose feet know not where to land

Who walks and never touches ground

Alone, barefoot, where wavelets pound.

The indents left by his cautious stride

Seem never to make a worthwhile mark

And yet the silence leaves them occupied

With nothingness in the dark

Suddenly a silvery hand

Shooting out from the breathless void

Grips him softly, an ecstatic thrill

A touch of pure cold in an endless chill

A thirst is wildly awakened,

An entire universe is shaken,

And he stands there, gasping, in the hush

Ardor rippling, a racing flush.

He waits, lingering, savoring, dreaming

Until ecstasy again engulfs his essence

The rippling touch evoking the seeming

Of embracing immortal radiance.

He dare not move through the night

Enduring endless moments of agony

For the shocking impassioned touch of light

His soul embraces in euphony

And as the radiant sun begins to fly

She rises up, clothed blue in sky

Her hair tumbling about her in silver waves,

Her emerald eyes the land-way paves.

And he walks on, the endless shore,

Covered in footprints he once wore,

Every aspect of remoteness flees

Before the power of the sea.

Reviews

[Foxemerald]

This is a fascinating poem. The imagery is shrewd and cutting, like a cool knife. It is extreme and forces you to pay attention to it. I feel as if the poem is carrying me on a gentle breeze, and it awakens all of the romantic qualities I hold- your author's style is very interesting. I would enjoy reading more of your work.