Secluded Beach

Secluded Beach

Willows whisper in the shade of the absent moon.
A beacon to creatures of love and lust.
A candle melts lopsided,
still glowing, still glowing, bleakly.
Where the light vanishes into shadow.
Where the tide draws back into the ocean.
Where we leave particles
that the water forgets to sift.
With pain,
we hold regret,
shattered antique pictures
of bashing bearded souls
eroding the shore with verse,
venturing to speak when all else is quiet. 

This beach of uncertainty
where Whitman meets his lover for a swim.
Where rosaries fall and drown in its undertow.
Where solitude creeps up on me,
leaves me, dissident.
Where poems strip the fruitful tree
and meet as piles of leaves,
wet and deserted. 

Ah, but is Art so perfect?
Why must we demand the reader take notice?
To lie alone on a dark plain
reciting these words
to throbbing earth with more heart
then the creatures must hear
such distant cries and howls
fading in the west.

Author: Atom Rush

Photo credit: Jeremy Ricketts on Unsplash

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