Forgotten Ground Regained

Restless Shores

I have long listened to lapping waters,foam-churning waves, flaring silverupon barren beaches. In their beats ashorehides the sorrow of the howling sea,grief engraved on its grey waters,echoing ever, as ocean's dirgefor the day's dimming.
Through that dolphin-countryfare the freighters, floating monsters,stack upon stack of steel cofferson their backs shining. Bellies shiver;patchworked piping purrs below deck;into square cabins squeeze the sailorshunkered aboard.
Horns are sounding. As those sea-vessels slip off northward,one must wonder: what way have shipsto outrun this storm? Rumour whispers;word is woven of the world's stirrings,of battle looming in its boundless seas.
Harbours are hostile, or hemmed about;gold changes hands, beguiles wretches;false flags are furled, fleets made ready.No rest for shipwrights: red glows the steelin noisy seaports, night and day.Blossoms wither, birds take their leave;spring is soon forgotten.
Despair is oft hiddenin truth’s disguise; untempered knowledgewounds its own wielder. To weather the storm,to regard peril and greet it smiling,that is full courage! To be found, maybe,among the quick-hearted, the cunning feetof shy-faced strangers on the shore dancing,arm joined in arm. But as evening’s hourmakes shadows of men, I shy awaywith peering eyes, prayer unspoken;and still I listen to lapping waters.
Copyright © Nat Beeton, 2026
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