adventures in dysthymia

Friday, January 16, 2015

Flotsam, a poem


I am cast up on your shores,
flotsam, wave-worn memories
of the man I was, the sailor
of dark seas and broken days.

Gather me. Among the polished
pearled shells, I wait, a dreaming
on the margins of tomorrow.
Once we found such remnants, there,

tokens of the unseen storm.
Call to your horizons, misted
with the songs of pasts forgotten;
all that we have yearned for lies

sleeping in the distant blue
reaches, lies yet undiscovered.
Might you sail to such a venture,
taking ship along the curve

of a restless golden morn?
Might you rise across your days?
I remain, on shores a world
distant, discard, sea-gift, flotsam

drifted from unvoyaged depths.
Find me there, someday, among
treasures of the tide; then hold me
to your ear to hear my song.

Stephen Brooke ©2015

Something more formally constructed and probably at least in part a result of reading French Symbolists of late.

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