Poetry

The death of the rolling tide

By: Karoline Wimmer

A rolling tide
cannot hide,
in the worst of dreams,
it lights the match
that sets the fire
to the darkest of desires.

If seas had been sweeter
than the fairest of all ladies,
they would have met
with great contempt
the most hunch-backed of all the broken men.

Yet, seas have lost their sweetness
as the rolling tide knows all too well,
for the passing of time
refuses to hide
the burn that flows through
the body at night,
only to stop with the drowning cry,
of the last man standing on the shores of the endless sky.

The tide has its way,
now and again,
to signalize the minute quietly as it ends,
the warning to the mighty
has never been taken lightly,
as monsters in hiding
burn at its very sighting.

Categories: Poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.