Longing For

Longing For

Lost love yearns in the turning of the eve, as the sun crests upon the dark

hidden deep within the sea.  Bound, forever bound, to who knows where,

as the sun rises once again and shines a burning flare.  It reaches out to a

village down below the crag near the banks of the ocean where travelers

seldom grace their presence.

The villagers live quiet lives fishing from the sea.   As they are surrounded

by mountains below the peaks.   They put forth no airs about whom they

really are.  They have but a general store, barbershop and bar.  The women

folk work at the cannery,  when they are not at home.  Then there is the

widow Sara who lives all alone.

She works by day and sleeps by night in a cottage, lit by candle light.

Her life is torn from her eyes, when she at home and hopes to die.  She

sleeps not upon her bed but on a couch, where she lays her head.  In her

nights a prisoner she be, surrounded by mountains and the sea.

So rip away the shackles of the night that binds her up in chains.  Liberate the

widow from a broken heart, which imprisons her in pain?  Wake her from

slumbers rest beneath the depths of dreams, where everything goes a-rye

to the grievous outrage of the crow's morning screams.

 A new dawning awaits her for the receiving of the coming tide as it chases

the drowning moon on the other ocean-side.  It passes beyond the horizon

in the gathering of all things, which belong to the angels with their golden

halo rings. The widow cleanses her teardrops, crusted upon her sweet face,

before she sobbed once more, within her pillow all embroidered in

fancy lace.

The takers of hearts lay waste to the widow Sara's world.  Like the

cunning grey wolf hot on the path of the rabbit or the squirrel.

So daintily, the widow walks with an angel by her side.   Since the day,

the town lighthouse got swept away in the storm's eye. Her true love was

in lighthouse in the offering to the sea.  Then to the muse of angels, they

said let him live, let him be.  The angels placed him on an island, far from the

crackling storms, where the twinkling stars dazzled to the ponderings of the

ocean floor.

The widow's heart was in a flutter when this fable reached her ears.

The tale was so preposterous she plunged into a hush of tears.  The angel

rose above her with propriety in his eyes as he listened to poor Sara wallowing

in her sighs.   Much of her self-esteem drifted away with the waves, as she

bordered on insanity further and farther every day.  The angel came once more

to her and took a piece out from his heavenly grace, then he gently

spirited it inward, deep inside Sara's shattered place.

In the titanic arena of existence, forever bridled in days woes, from

the pain of nights rest where souls yearn to go.  Sara addle before the

dawn looking for peace with end in the wilderness of tomorrows for the

tenderness of her lost husband, her friend.  She walked beyond the

walkway towards the sandy shore where she stumbles and hobbles on

the cobblestones set before.

Sara tippy toed genteelly into the washed-out sand, given by the

Lord's own gracious hand.  Her protector stood beside her with dignity

of worth as whitecaps and blue waters rode on the morning surf.

Forlorn she looked into her own heart to the images of the sea, and then

yowls within herself these gasping words of pleas.

 “My love, where can you be?” As the angel moved closer and

entranced Sara towards the coning deep, where she stopped on cradling

sand in faith of love to leap.

She stripped bare to her breasts as the sun slid into the west.  Then

stood motionless in a moment of time with waves in rows line by line.

Unclothed before the sea, all lost in her memories she gives one last

hopeful plea, from the vestige in her eyes to the firelight of her cries.

The angel beckoned to intercede with wings stretched out

before the sea.  Then in a godly voice, the angel heralded beyond

the Scottish mist for just one divine wish...

“Come ye angels upon the wind from the lost horizons beyond her

swim.   Carry her forth to the island shore in the ending of tears,

 so she cries no more.”

From over the horizon, the angels came in multitudes, clandestinely,

in their brethren's name.  Wings stretched out covering the skies while

their angel rings glowed under the sun high and wide.   They hovered

about like birds from the sea, ready to pounce heavenly.  They waited

to pluck Sara from the blue and take her gracefully to the island for

those that believe   Sara swam towards the reef in a

strange understanding of her belief.  In hope, she would find her

husband, her man on an island called Nederland.

The villagers looked towards the radiant sun glowing brighter than

ever before.  Then they wondered if the widow Sara was knocking

on heaven's door.   Was she still on earth or heaven sent?

Only her trusted angel could say, as he watched the multitude

fly over the horizon to meet the end of day.  The angels have left

the banks of the sandy shore,  never to whisper a single word of

what went on before.

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Submitted on March 23, 2016

Modified on March 05, 2023

4:37 min read

Quick analysis:

Scheme X X A X X B A C A X X D E D A F X X G C C H X A I A G A A A J I K D L D H F A A A X L A D X M X N K X M X X X X X X E J L D X X B E A E N C K X X X X L
Closest metre Iambic octameter
Characters 4,951
Words 917
Stanzas 76
Stanza Lengths 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1

Norman Wilson

IntroductionForgotten are the times the tick of a clock once chimed sobering sounds that caressed my hearts nightly dreams. As I awaken to the touch of light that burns upon a candles wick flickering my words for all to see. This drives my thoughts through the darkest of nights of loneliness that renders my quill upon parchment with ink that dances to minds and souls.Now I hear the screeching of my heart when the blue horizon covers the orb of emptiness.Within the shelter of my mind with little, purpose other than my words that keep me sane. These are my new poems I have written in the quiet of my night, forever wished away in a writer’s pain. As I strive to write that perfect poem that, my soul desperately seeks. Then and only then can my words rest upon a sleep. more…

All Norman Wilson poems | Norman Wilson Books

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