The Shores

In ways that we could not ever have predicted,
the waves of our discontents and frustrations
wash up, in perpetual canon, on the shores,
and nothing we can do will still them;
long after the wreckage has been disseminated,
these waves continue to arrive,
your flotsam to my jetsam,
beaching in the very place
where our hearts should lie glowing together, warmly,
bleaching, instead, to a unity of purposelessness.

Perhaps a saving grace,
ours is not the only dreck to litter the shores,
and, somehow, all still manages to gleam
with an unencumbered purity.

Perhaps all the waves to follow
will pound into soluble atoms
all that drew us to this insoluble conclusion,
and we shall sift with the sands,
under alternating rains and sunshine,
into the peace
love deserved
and passion longed for
when we were sought out
to belong together,
within the song of the sea.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen