The sea lies picture still

The sea lies picture still

Flecked by sunlight, painted by a godly hand

My chin resting on the wooden rail

I can feel the grain

How many have sat here before me

Gazing out into the distance

Lost in wonder as if they were the only people

To have felt the whisper of the wind

Communing with angels.

A pebble moves under my foot

Unconsciously kicked out into the blue

Waiting for a splash

To break the spell

As silvery ripples spread out wide

Disturbing

Oil from the outboard motors,

Richard of York gained battles in Vain

Displacing the light

As an Osprey casts a shadow over the sun

I am not the hunter

But neither am I the prey

Didn’t Icarus come a cropper

When he reached too high

The weight of dreaming

A heavy price to pay

For chasing the possibility of immortality

Were there ever any of god’s children

Sitting beside a throne

Hanging suspended in the firmament

What a strange anomaly that would be.

The sound of water lapping against the seawall

Breaks through the multiverse

And reminds me of the mystery

Of the everyday

If I had a gold coin I would throw it in the water

Make another wish

Maybe it would come true

Magical thinking,

Where is the harm in that

When half the world believes in demons,

The scientific method casts a long shadow

But without imagination,

Whatever would become of wonder?

Daly missive breaks into the weekend for Saturday the 23rd of July.

When sleep comes

There is always a wailing

An unmet need

The stripping of flesh

Old bones clamouring for life

Shoulder blades that once were wings

Empty eye sockets

Wet with tears

The ripping of rotting wood

As soil fills the hole

Lungs, sad sacks full of blowflies

The sun, an ancient memory

Hammering new nails into my wrists

Shadows as dark as night

Screaming into an inferno

Of memories

Every one burned into my soul

Waiting for the resurrection

Remembering other lives

Before the fall

Waking in a cold sweat

On a sea of hot coals

Floating in amber

Waking again to a mourning

The day almost done

Forgetting to take notes

Moving forward without recall

But there is an itch

Out of reach

Buried in marrow

Scars that never heal

And can not be scratched

No matter how long my nails.