A Sunday Afternoon Poem

Clay Cliffs

long ago - when this island stood tall
with immeasurable cliffs reaching…
surrounded by crooked valleys far below
distant ice stood frozen - mile high

I tell you
my spirit dwells in the cliffs
with cracked colored face
time-etched, wizened with
wrinkles from frigid winds
baked hard by cloudless sun

What is this you ask
about those who now stand and look
with blind eyes that stare to see
caressing the face of millions past
a face that willingly falls away
beneath phallic light's brush
stroked anew by Artist's palette
while eroding to rhythmic music
washed by red-tinted waters
between green-haired rocks

I tell you
my spirit dwells in the cliffs
cliffs born from ancient stars
cliffs soaring into our mind's eye
churning anew from black chaos
sprinkled with bright birth light
across dark shadows of ridges lost…

Twas Your unexpected love
that captured my wayward spirit
vulnerable to seductive whispers
of my name from Twilight's mouth
palpable as weight of feet shifting
squeaky sands of quartz and shell,
crunching dry seaweed perched on
slippery stones

Here hangs my heart
fragile as wet gossamer wings
  newborn
woven from your thought threads
onto thin cloth of shattered dreams

When all seems lost
and my spirit weak
disassembled from toll of toiling days
Your cliffs patiently await my return
to show off to me her new wardrobe
to tickle my eyes with latest fashion
seeking to titillate what senses seek
as they quietly cry in places hidden
for lost loves, friends, places

Yes, love struck I am
as my fingers feel her shimmering skin
as though soothing her lonely days alone ~
to reprise her shriveled memories
of soft, warm times before my touch
before machines, pollution, bombs,
prisons ~
orchestrated by greedy hands

As I turn to leave - I feel
my spirit clinging to stay
to take one last look at Your face
before I again return to human place
and again fall from magic of Your grace

~ William Waterway