Christian Middle

In memory of summer now past, a poem

 

There is something breathtaking in the sea,

In the contemplation of its complete constancy:

It is always there, sleepless –

 

Which is not to say changeless

Because it has its moods:

 

At times a gamester,

Calling us out, challenging us to our sports,

Playing tag with babes,

Roughhousing our bodies,

Laughing back at us with splashes of elation;

The sun, its heavenly confidant,

Sends down beams of dancers to light upon its waves,

Interpreting the sea’s musical message in glistening ecstasy.

 

But times come when the sea does shrink from ‘joicing

And rises up in frightful fury,

Bashing angry chord against chord,

Lest the shore grow arrogant,

Forgetting it would cease to be a shore

Without the sea.

 

Sometimes we mistake the rage for abuse

And fancy the sea a careless child

Banging out senseless discords

With sadistic delight.

But watch a little longer.

A sadist would tire of the sport and shut the keyboard,

But the sea remains

Constant

Tireless

Unending

And it never stays angry forever.

 

For at times it is tender, soothing,

As the trickly ripples which accompany the sunset –

A rhythmic chorus of amens.

 

O sea – what keeps you coming?

Why do you refuse to give up?

What has this sandy shore done for you that you should be

Its loyal companion?

What is that you say in your waves?

The melody is always the same,

And has always been the same,

And will ever be the same –

The sunbeams, they know well the song;

In their dance they never miss a step.

But we shoredwellers, can we hear the words?

Or can our eyes tell our hearts the meaning?

 

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