By Tom H. Brooks 3


The song of the summer breeze

playing through the trees
is for me alone
because I hear it.
The directed squawk of a
single black raven
is a call to mystery.
My reflection on the wet sand
stares back at me-
The wind hissing through
dry grass and palm leaves
on the hill
speaks to me.
The lone American flag
at half mast
in an empty baseball field
is a forlorn sight
for my eyes only
here above the sea
in late September of 2001.
Only I am truly hearing
the lapping of waves on this empty shore,
in this lonely lagoon.
Only I am understanding
the melody and rhythms
of light and shadow
of dreams and nightmares.
The waves crash
upon the rocky shore,
the pebbles clatter and tumble
with the receding tide.
The music of the ocean
is endless
I look into darkness
and somehow, I find light.
The sun sinks,
floating down to the horizon,
the sea
a billion points of light.
A white sailboat
crosses a shimmering field
of intense glittering
crystal flashes,
the sparrows twitter in the trees,
occassional distant voices-
disembodied voices
through purple twilight.
The sounds of silence
cast their spell on my restless
spirit in solitude.
A seagull winds lazy spirals above,
her mournful cry
takes me across oceans…
south…always south…

The night falls…
the lights of industry
describe wavering
beams of light
on placid harbor waters.
Creatures prowl the darkness
bushes rustling
the symphony of crickets.
The crescent moon
hanging in the cloak of night
like a scimitar, perhaps,
or an uncaring slit of an eye,
suspended and watchful, yet….
in our mortal foolishness.
The moon also has the
silvery glint of a scythe,
the Grim Reaper approaches
with what we’ve all got coming to us…
The ocean crashes
as always
far below.
If I could,
I would fly off into the darkness,
but I cannot,
so I sit alone on this empty hilltop
in the night
and stare at the
unblinking eye of the moon,
and she stares back
until a night mist envelops me
in an endless sea of fog…..







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