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Shards of indecision fragment my soul’s wake,
Choices imbue sand and flotsam upon my shore,
What of the savage boons we grant ourselves?
Beseech their vengeful finality, insert profane hope.
Past under a microscope of unrelenting scrutiny,
Hindsight’s glare, most spiteful of man’s curses,
What if? A thorn deforming beauty of every day’s rose,
Might have been, cracked veneer in forward motion.
Halcyon haze descends, fogging truth and sentiment,
Misting banks ghost, poltergeist from yesterday’s sea,
What jetsam breaks upon tomorrow’s spectral herald?
The future is tenuous, rocky is a path none dares to tread.
Shells of ourselves are discarded along the reality of the shore,
We, faunal crustaceans, implore for more sheltered meaning,
What now? Resounds the cavernous recess of fresh sanctuary,
Awaiting portended bombardment, winds and tides of the next.
© Brad James, 2014.