The Roll of the Sea
It is a weary sea that sweeps my stony
remembrance smooth. Yet, the toll of years and tale
of days dulls my awareness not. 'Tis a
careless hand that lays upon mine, yet many
a tear hath my eye seen. And though there are many
within who fear that cold embrace, so there
are those ho grasp His nighted hand.
'Tis true that the fortress seems forbidding,
yet 'tis naught, when the storm comes to pass.
'Tis mine eyes that see so much but show so
little. Thine eyes are not windows to thy
soul, for there is no matter wi'in to see.
Ah, fie ont! Thy visage and thine eyes give
not a whit for the troubles of mine. Thy
lives are lived so small, yet within my stony
remembrance, I find what thou could'st ha'been.
Thou dost forget how much I see, and I
do not forget. You may walk the expanse
Of my thoughts, built by stony brick, n'er
Seeing my whole. 'Tis only he looks
With open, who may encompass my true
Being. Look ye to it. Thy eyes shut, mouths
Open, and hands clamped o'er thy ears, thou
Seek not the safety of my walls 'till thine
Finally crumble in neglected ruin! And
'tis thus that thou come'st to walk within my
Halls, n'er seeing, blind to her upon whom you
Tread. To thee, I am naught but the castle
On the distant hill, yet thou must come within
My stony embrace 'ere you fall. For no
Man thinks of the castle on the hill 'till
His own home blazes merrily. And even then,
Ye notice not that thy lives play out in
front of me, 'ere thou takes thy nighted journey.
'Tis the curse of the sea, that my solid
Fortress, that my remembrance falters not,
And my action smoothed by the curséd roll
Of the sea.