Saturday, March 10, 2007


They sit, on the edge,
Of the beach,
Across swirling sands,
Out to sea,

Crowds swarm around,
Flickering in and out of existence,
Smiling, haunted,
Cat cream smiles,
Hang dog glum.

They sit, on the edge,
Watching, waiting,
Golden sands swirl around their feet,
Trying to tempt,
To lead, each grain a fresh new dream,
But they resist.

A voice just behind,
From a blind spot,
“You came, but it’s not yet time”

They sit, on the edge,
And commit,
Those tones, inflections and accent,
To memory.
Fingers stroke their hair,
Drop to shoulder; linger for a brief moment,
And are gone.

Skies darken and flicker,
Sands turn grey and cease swirling,
They awaken.

They sit, on the edge,
Of the bed,
Another puzzle piece,
In their search,
For their dream partner.


etain_lavena said...

yes, when my dream man, only resides in my nice in:)

paris parfait said...

Lovely prose evocative of the search for one's soulmate.

Regina Clare Jane said...

Oh, how melancholy and beautiful... waiting is so hard.

Mardougrrl said...

Loved how you can just sink into these words...into that poetic longing.

Susan Abraham said...

A powerful longing!

Jemima said...

"each grain a fresh new dream" - oh the possibility.

I really like the first stanza. Took me right there.

Jone said...

I liked ther repetitive lines, :they sit, on the edge of the beasch" I can see the searchers. Nicely done.

KG said...

I felt carried along by your words. I'm left with feelings of people longing for things from their deepest essence, the kinds of things that often only reveal themselves to us in our dreams.

gautami tripathy said...

I know exactly what you mean....

Thanks for this journey.

Eleuktra Starsoft said...


Kristen Robinson said...

Absolutey lovely such wonderfully chosen words.