This was originally written quite a few years back when I lived at the Outer Banks, right on the Atlantic Ocean. I lost all my old original journals of poetry when a flood destroyed my home. This was rewritten from memory.


Until It's Time

 

Until It's Time

Building sandcastles oceans wash away
Tides roll in only to roll out again
The clarion call of a seagull
Echoes in the wind
Alone and looking out
In need of something he is without
A tin man stands steadfast with rust
His Bibles among the clutter
Collecting the dust
Wistfully he watches as the babies play
Upon the beach
Until it's time for them to go in,
Somehow transformed
Into bodies of burned up, tired old men.





Poetry by melanie sue
Read 786 times
Written on 2009-01-10 at 12:59

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Northlight
A whole lifestory from a beautiful place,
can feel the sound, sand, sea, wind
and the loneliness until the end.
Its more like a lovely painting, thank you.
Regards, N.
2009-01-16



I like the word 'Until'. Time can come in our present day so quick and go so quickly with the music of where we are presently spending our day and in this case, the beach.

I like the concept of expression here, liken to beached thoughts of faded dreams, time has lapsed and wave (waves) it goodbye in oceans surfed motions.

I felt sound in this and a sense of being in the poem and I like that feeling. Well structured, thought out and love the pictures of time displayed in a creative moment written.

Language: 5
Format: 5
Mood: 5
Overall: 5
2009-01-11