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