I have this memory:
of sitting quietly
on the warm sand by the sea.
Years later, here I remain,
fastened helplessly into unbelief and panic.
What’s all in between?
It has come to be seen
only in the last hour.
He never came close to the teetering tower
of words he had wanted to say,
or all of the deep feeling he had
wanted to convey.
But moonlight breaks and reflects
flaming day:
your time is up,
you may never get it back.
Some say life is a long and winding road
as many a folk singer have crowed.
So, life of mine, lead me to the ocean,
lead me to the sea,
where these bones relax
and my body is soaked
in magic seawater and sunlight
fair as flax.
I could scream and I could shout,
let my heart and soul fall out,
but for what reason?
I glance around the dimly lit room;
that hair in your eyes serves as little
disguise for the dream that they dismiss
under little premise.
He makes up his mind which
decides your own.
No matter how incessantly it rings,
these weary bones can’t even bring you
to answer the phone.
Will you spend the rest of your nights
with the light on?
These weary bones are jutting from underneath
the flimsy fabric of my dress, and your eyes
are on my hilly spine.
I know as you look at me you
must think I’m a
mess.
But sometimes our eyes meet,
and my heart skips a beat, ‘cause
likewise reflected in your eyes
is the ocean tide.
I’m getting a dreadful notion,
shrouded in dizzying speed and motion.
I wish this humming engine,
this road of mine,
these quivering bones
would lead me to
the ocean.
My heart is heavy; it aches and is weary, dear;
my heart is longing and
it belongs in the
ocean clear.
I wish this road, these
weary bones
would lead me home,
to my ocean.
Caroline Weeks
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/weary-bones/
