Thursday, May 31, 2012


Gently it ripples, softly it is slipping
Green tide adorning earth’s fallow and slope
Out to the lips of cerulean grinning
A perimeter man cannot follow or grope

Where is the skyline that seals our visage?
Earth rushes out to brush azure-blue shores
Man rushes forward but we cannot touch it
Elusive allurement to ethereal doors

Wilderness, frontier, mountain or ocean
Grazes the furrow twixt seeing and faith
Gently it ripples; our thought and emotion
Tracing the edge of its blue, mystic wraith

Gossamer ribbon of infinite measure
We cannot race through its translucent seal
Nor stroll the breadth of its line at our leisure
And yet we know, the horizon is real is, isn't it?

© Janet Martin

Horizons...the proof of faith.


Thank-you for stopping by my porch! I hope you were blessed!