Friday, February 4, 2011
Sitting on the rocks of the bay. At the point just before the ocean stained boulders meet the shore. I'm sitting here wondering if I've ever seen your face before. The tide, dead calm, is awakened by the intrusion of a tourist barge. Then left calm again after they've gone, but never to reach once more it's peaceful peak. I feel a presence, overwhelmed in attack, attempting to move me from my earthbound throne of granite. It can only cause a weak shift in my movement. Enough to have me turn and look, yet return to my sinful stare. Looking into and holding tight your sinful hair. Something keeps the tide alive as others attempt at breaking its untimely spirit. Left without hope the tourists return to their lifeless mope. This is the story of those who've settled but still long to grope at that image of peace they inevitably break and disrupt. Just when they've entered, it's over and just as they leave, it returns... like a crowd scatters as danger approaches, her peace runs away from their hairlines and broaches. I am left standing watching you there. Ever so changing as you look into the light's glare. I am left standing waiting for your return from the destruction. The disruption of all they've put on you and try leaving in their wake. You will not move me from my granite throne. You will not leave me here all alone. They will quiver and shake in the power of your wake.
Posted by Matthew Marchant at 4:07 PM