Wednesday, September 29, 2010


Waves colliding with the sand.
Stone edges, once sharp to the touch,
now worn smooth by the
relentless sea surf.

You are the waves
that crash onto the shore.
The foam that lingers
on the sand.
Like the hand that lingers
on mine.

I am the rocks on the beach.
Once roughened but
now worn with softened angles.
Soft like your eyes as they rest
on mine.

Sometimes it's easier to
relent to the pressure and
the crashing cacophony
than to battle the breaking crests.

Because the longer you stay in
my heart and in my head,
the easier it is to yield to the quiet
of the outgoing tide.

Monday, September 27, 2010

"Into My Own"

One of my wishes is that those dark trees, 
So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze, 
Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom, 
But stretched away unto the edge of doom. 

I should not be withheld but that some day 
Into their vastness I should steal away, 
Fearless of ever finding open land, 
Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.

I do not see why I should e'er turn back, 
Or those should not set forth upon my track 
To overtake me, who should miss me here 
And long to know if still I held them dear. 

They would not find me changed from him they knew-- 
Only more sure of all I thought was true.

-Robert Frost