Under the hazy sun,
the days seem trapped
beneath deep and unrelenting eyes -
a storm is promised, but the air for now is as still
as the breath from the dead;
and yet one leaf will stir,
one bough will bend
and no one knows
how the stillness will eventually end -
perhaps with a gentle rain,
perhaps a thundering storm.
Today the sea is calm and motionless,
what waves there are
curl upon the beach almost like a tender caress,
but the seas is never still,
the unseen beckons the mass of watery elements,
and almost against its will
the seas is drawn from the shore
in tiny tides to a distant force.
Sometimes it is with us,
but what force has beckoned us
we do knot know,
but still we move in, answer to something unseen
not knowing if we are being drawn from
or toward some final shore.
The storm has broken, suddenly -
and sanctuary has been found.
Sanctuary of the past
far and safe from present threats,
where the landscape of dreams are free of thunder and storms
and the serenity the present can never know
invades the gentle air ...
or so it seems.
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