Wednesday, January 28, 2009
where the water meets the sand
she sells them oranges by the shore, three for a silver piece, the last they'll taste of this sweet land, before they set out east. they walk with eyes fixed to the ground, never to see her face, one by one they come and go, never to see her grace. i hear them calling me to leave, the grace thats in her hand, thats all that i have ever known, the past and its command. this restless pull to wander seas, has held me like a leash- and never till she held me close, have i ever felt released. i've held the night with a drunkards hand, i've herd the dark sirens spell, i've woke the dawn in my own blood, from the bottom of a well. in the morning light she calls to me, and holds my calloused hand, she bids me to come lay with her, where the water meets the sand.