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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1448941
This poem describes my growth so far as a writer.
Of Sand, Of Sea

Surely and slowly am I to say,
Surely from low sea I’ve come to bay.
Youthful water,
Age old sand,
The holder of life summons life anew,
The retainer of souls casts the truest of truth.
Many a poem have found way to this hand,
Many a pencil have been writ so grand.
To what is this grand?
Thy water?
Thy sand?
The hand’s a flivver, a smile, a boast,
The mind is alike as time was made most;
It is not till time tells tilts towards thrones.
Thrones a thunder, thrones of firmament, I have not yet reached,
Thrones that quite possibly exist to cease.
For you see, it is in this way that I have grown just,
Along, a twixt, grains as grammar but thus,
I have learned through realization and spoke in many changes.
Word and structure guide a tremend,
But  this distance is no longer so far,
Oh how far it was, how far, starther than star,
And dimmer still…

High tide rises in me,
Thy moon burns fiercely.
How beautifully it glows,
How beauteous my journey home.
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