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by Logan
Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #2260031
A poem about the songs of the surf (and nothing to do with Martha and the Muffins)
Echo Beach

Looking back at waves past,
long washed up on the shore;
it's funny how the tides last
... they leave you wanting more

Echoes borne across the beach,
'midst lapping waves, they shift;
ebbed in sync, rolled out of reach,
a flowing temporal rift

A raft of second chances,
in hindsight, been and gone;
half formed, sidelong glances,
dances blinkered... off and on

At times, unsure of patterns,
in the undertow, the tides;
running rings round saturn
... and round the other side

as bodies pull on oceans,
moons no longer there;
there's gravity in notions,
in thoughts that lay stripped bare

Stripped bare in the whitewash,
of memories that mark;
the sandbanks with the backwash,
where past thoughts lie, scored dark

Washing back in sequence,
coming back in waves;
of glitter, grace and sequins,
encoded strong, they're saved

Rolling back in binary,
unnoticed at the time;
distilled in life's refinery,
remembered are the signs

Signs that now seem simple,
signs that now read plain;
with ships long gone, it stings still,
the abscence that remains

Memories... what could've been,
roll hollow in the past;
you never know, when waves wash in,
which time will be their last

to harbours dry that ring true,
a dock for me alone;
the times I should have seen through,
the times I should have shown

an interest in the market,
through fabricated lies;
the places where we park it,
the faces truth denies

Despite a world much brighter,
to have them present, there;
to make the load much lighter,
to let them know... to dare

To say how the world lights up,
when their interest there is piqued;
so vulnerable, so psyched up,
a validation... seeked

A hymn that sounds from friendly turf,
sung just a pitch too true;
when sirens sing within the surf,
sometimes they sing for you

Splinters of forgotton songs,
we let them roll away;
when the right wave rolls in strong,
just take the swell and pray

Wrestling with ties that bide,
found reason in old rhymes;
trying to rewrite the tides,
the chapters of our times

Asking less and yearning more,
a madman's estuary;
dreams cascade across the shore,
and wash back out to sea

Washed away, forsaken, lost,
despite such best steps planned;
guilty half steps taken, cost,
vague footsteps in the sand

Two left feet pushed forward, dared,
to broke a heart's demand;
In dance routines, learnt awkward, scared,
afraid to take a hand

In hindsight, plain, we see it all,
some truths, they form in time;
when waves roll in, scrolled digital,
tides, phantom, pool in line

Lining up, whilst waves wash in,
ignored and thought routine;
but what if maybe just within,
those tides, there was a dream

A dream of second chances borne,
on currents wrought with doubt;
a bottled message, coded, worn,
looped, running, in and out

As time goes by, such tides they slow,
waves run, roll out of reach;
with nothing more than echoes,
lowly lapping on the beach

Till in the end, they roll no more,
unread, ignored, dismissed;
little knowing what's in store,
unsaid, unsold, remiss

Looking back at waves long past,
long washed up on the shore;
it's funny how such tides, they last,
... and leave you wanting more
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