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Who Claims the Sea

Updated on July 6, 2012

Poetry by Joanne Kathleen Farrell

Did anyone know the depth of the sea

when clusters of fossils moved?

When did they climb under the rocks

and hide in the sands of time.

Was this before the great mountains moved

or just a dream of mine?

Who knew the first blue green waters

or the morning river waves?

Was it the indigo sky, I ask

or the rain on the forest glade?

Some say the turtles knew them all very well

when four footed creatures knew the sea.

Now the beasts dwell in green forest palate

eating on shreads of grass.

Who claims the sea

or the tide that swells

over the rambling beasts with legs?

I've seen the ugly grip of men

who try to capture the folding white waves.

The waves tremble when they cross over

as if reaching for a saving hand.

I have seen the blood spill of these men

and the August drought they cause.

They drain the broken heart you see

and leave us listening for a silent pause.

The silence was broken by a hurricane

who pounded through at dawn.

The roar was like no other.

No longer could silence exist.

Sirens blew over the darkest land.

The sky could not be found.

Who owns the small new born hand

With the pale soft gentle skin?

Is it the sinking sun tonight

or the late night blazing flint?

I stroke it gently as the night passes on

until awakened by a strange light.

I see light leaking

from an east sailing ship

covered in the darkest lifeless cloud.

I ask the Captain who owns this ship

that can emit streams of blazing rays

He does not answer and closes his eyes

While the light drifts into the melting sea.

"Who owns the wintry roads", a voice asks

"beneath skyscrapers and towers of glass?"

"Who claims the rail ties covered in snow

or the engines that constantly blast?"

Is there a deed to nobel stone castles

or bonds on the Greek porticos?

For who owns

really claims nothing

but selfish wondering life.

No one owns this small hand in mine

Not even my own red beating heart.

Nothing could capture this peaceful soul at my chest.

It cannot be tagged or sold.

For the rest, I suspect anyone can guess

that only the constellations know.

By Joanne Kathleen Farrell


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