Tuesday, June 5, 2018

The Cresting Tide

My mind at peace, I gaze upon the sea,
Its blue, unfathomed depths, epochal.
The cresting tide rushes in, as if alive,
And sounds an ancient chord inside me,
Some tone general to the orchestra of life.

Vast waves are thundering far out to sea,
Like the reverberation of primordial drums,
Or the fire of a thousand sea-borne guns,
Bringing to mind the cresting human tide;
Engulfing the earth in its onrushing flood.

On this Island, lost in earth's greatest sea,
Coconuts brown in the great beach palms.
And verdant uplands glow in riotous green.
Yet even this thriving nature lies imperiled,
By the seething tide of starving billions.

Before us rises the specter of annihilation,
And though the thought is scarcely bearable,
In mourning the loss of these living things,
We find detachment on the loss of our own life,
In that our death eases a burden on the earth.

And though species perished for me to live,
In this brief nova of a burgeoning mankind,
Sorrow and regret can only profane their loss,
So in homage to their passing, I will live for joy,
And forge my spirit in a metal worth the price.

Brent Hightower
Copyright 2018, Brent Hightower