The Shadow of the Swell
When a younger man, a time forever gone,
I'd drive through the night, long hours to find dawn,
stand by the Atlantic as the sun would rise,
watch the crashing surf beneath peach-tinted skies.
My heart beat in rhythm to the ocean's song,
rising with each wave, far-journeyed yet still strong,
loud as thunder's drums and subtle as the mist
that clung to its crest, by morning's breezes kissed.
Once I sought truths in the shadow of the swell;
time’s lost lambent song has held me in its spell.
Does the sea dance now on that remembered shore?
Shall I seek all that eluded me before?
I have journeyed long, to find and know this day,
whispering its secrets to the foam-flecked gray;
still I understand too little of the wind,
still it wordless murmurs of how I have sinned.
I live in the shadow that the swell once cast
when a younger man, a time forever past,
and each heartbeat is a wave upon the beach
I drive toward through the night and never reach.
Stephen Brooke ©2018
Yes, it is sort of about surfing. Other stuff too. And in pretty strict hexameter.