On the Beach

Seaford Waves

Here on the beach, the whispering sea,
Eternally alluring, calls me: Come, enter,
But I resist its siren song, plug my ears.
Yet this edge of knowledge tempts me,
To explore that desirable, unknown no-land.
To cross that wave-waving boundary
Between the sand and the green-wracked water.
Get too close and surging foam enjoys a soaking.
Stand well back and the smell of ancient seaweed
Fluffs the mind with vacillation.
Hear the clinking rush of rounded pebbles.
They were once defiant rocks, now dissolved.
Relentless attrition leaves polished, glistening wet
Ideas accumulating in the depths of an active mind.
So much, so much – how can I take it all in?
So much want, yet fear stops me from wading in.
Flooded horizons give me hopes, and all I hope for
Is the impossible journey I could trace,
Slipping stone by stone, wake by wake,
Never touching bottom. My head
Stretching to fill the sky above the lonely water.

© 2017 Peter Young

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