Thursday, April 17, 2014

This Aching, Breaking Tide

Listening to Celtic Thunder spawns sudden, unexpected poetry...the beginning of this song sparked a sense akin to a tidal wave...

This aching, breaking tide
Dashes against a wall
Of morning-noon-and-night
Heart-wrenching madrigal
Silk silver on a street
Beneath our feet that dance
This aching, breaking tidal-wave
Perplexes thought’s romance

For kisses soon grow cold
And arms can never hold
The surge of moments passing through
Time’s glass of gray and gold
‘Aha, aha’, we say
And clench a foolish fist
This aching, breaking tidal-wave
Dissolves in vapor mist

The night is seldom heard
And where the morning stirred
We dash headlong into its waters
Of hope undeterred
Ere noon soon poises on
Earth’s morning-night divide
Before its little lilt will join
Time’s aching, breaking tide

The sound of silence roars
And pours through bolted doors
While we are busy making plans
And filling hands with chores
A pocket full of dreams
Drains into morn-noon-night
We stuff our cheeks with drops gleaned from
Its aching, breaking tide

© Janet Martin

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