Tony Mott

Lost Property

Sands, tangerine along the shore
swallow unseasoned waves
their relentless march deterred,
victories lost
amongst the swell and heave
of crusades fading light.
Death is my husband
I go where she calls me
tracing tides margin
in search, at sea
of unclaimed love,
besieged by shingle,
elusive fingers ,
shifting, cannot grip
hands shovel
no earthly use.
Above and above
the cliff top sits
shorelines frowning guardian
at once benevolent and fierce,
rescuer of my dreams
shelter for my love
hope and ruination
comfortably side by side.

Copyright © Tony Mott 2017

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About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
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