Towards the waning midnight sunset

Towards the waning midnight sunset

I saw the sun steep 

into the seascape ―

lonely as a drowning 

    wave 

         on still-waters

the dimming of the day 

rescinding evanescent daylight                                                                  .

fading with the slack tide 

         lost at sea ―

a gloaming moment 

         let fall from 

the remains of the day,

like some other passing

sea bird's molted feather

drifts away untamed

I sit silent as the driftwood

lingering at the watermark,

watching a random gust 

    erase the footprints 

of another recurring day, 

bearing abandoned memories

    and vacant heartbeats, 

atrophied in the drifting sands

    and I see you walking 

    towards the abating  

    midnight sunset ― 

         but I know 

    you're just a mirage;     

like the dimming afterglow 

of so many waning moons

            elapsed

         

ever-changing tides grow low  

and promises made lightly   

         do ebb away

          

Scanning the distant horizon ―    

    a blindfold heart    

    mooning all at sea;

parsing a deserted shoreline, 

    wondering if love

          is too late ,..

    to stem the tide ―

        harlon rivers  ©

      30   May   2018

Note:

apologies for the inconsistent posts and replies. Internet access comes and goes out here off the grid. Thank you for taking a look through the words― 

h.a. rivers

Chronological TRAVELOGUE collection:
9 of some more

a fistful of sand

a fistful of sand

The waves spilled the rising tide 

back into the scattered footprints in the sand

deeply entrenched in life’s mystery,

receding into every breaking wave

A stiff sea breeze put back every grain of sand,

elements of a larger object gathers,

gravity firmed, into the silent shoreline chasms—

the beheld essence washed out to sea 

by the fugitive tides and retreating sea-foam

Soon all trodden traces visibly vanish;

unmarked mileposts on a metaphysical pathway 

slip away back to a windswept shoreline 

and elapsing summer tide

Seabirds glide in slow-motion, 

held sway into the shapeless gusts — 

as if feathered puppets hovering,

hanging from the rafters 

of the burgeoning orange sky

There's an uncommon peace in the renaissance; 

effervescent crisp ocean air filling in 

the indefinable emptiness

marooned within each heartbeat’s echo

Each new breath inhaled, disappearing within

the unhealed hollow of every thing once believed; 

fully aware this life is unholdable as time,

yet feeling many things deeply retained

in each passing moment— 

slipping away like a handful of sand

sifting through all these hands once held

Presence becoming wreathed in a miasma of stillness,

space that levitates like an unpredictable fog 

that seeps into the gnawing voids 

of an unsated hunger

harlon rivers ... August 1st, 2018  ©

Note: ' a fistful of sand '

The title comes from thinking about how we sometimes try and mold/shape/influence that which is unholdable... ' a fistful of dry sand ' is forever shapeless as the wind...

Getting away from my ordinary life maze seems to be changing perspective; moments still unfold as they are intended but there is less peripheral distraction, more focus on the simple things that enrich life in the moment.