Friday, 18 August 2017

Womb sea Tomb sea


From the womb of the sea,
when the waters break,
deliver me safely to the shore,
and I will suckle the cradling sun.

A cloud's silver lining splits the shine,
on the ebb and flow of tears and joy.
Happiness, the bell is calling, calling.
It's a buoy. It's a buoy. It's a buoy. 

Safe upon that bank of sand,
draw down the busy world, and
with stick-lines incise your time,
in sacrifice before the erasing tide.

Gaze upon the soft horizon, constant
through the ages of child to man,
of man back down to child again,
in calm and storm be calmed.

Laid long upon a moon tomb sea,
flowing along the ebb tide's race,
weigh the anchor of my soul to flee,
to bleed westward with the sun.

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