pastels

[pastels]

Light glistens on wet skin,
Dripping hair, and pale faces;
Little hands, little lilting voices,
Nestled in the crooks of summer...
Waters lap at these white ankles summer
Will miss these white ankles:
Little soles held in summer's sands
Yonst the sparkling shore where the children play...

But how many graves -- oh
Aching turning sea
Waters that lap at these naked ankles
In thy murky deep what dark wills ferment
What sundry coffins bellow
What smothered promised testaments
Of sunken sailors and lonely
Souls howl yet for absolution but
All men are bereft at sea...

O gaping portentous thee...
I will wait for the dying sun to ignite thee
And then I will see thy unveiled visage in death
Burning like indian fires in the bloody sky
Blood in biblical proportions
Blood lapping the knees of I
Blood painted upon the arms and legs
And faces
Of child-worshippers of empty Sky
Oh I'm drowning I'm downing I'm dawn...
The tributaries of history run deep

[Sapphire]

Thank you for sharing :)

It's a haunting picture you paint here - children playing in the water that has killed so many... Not something that immediately comes into my mind when I am at the beach! It is an interesting thought (though I immediately have to think about the live the ocean gives ;) )

I like the repeat in the first verse and the way you start the 2nd verse with that cursive line - and end the whole poem with it. What I try to say: I like the way you handled this topic and especially the form of the poem.