The Effects of Darkness

Late at night
and you sit on the beach,
feeling the sand on your feet
and smelling the salty air.

A bottle of cheap wine sits beside you
barely touched,
all you could find this late,
its screw top in your pocket.

There are no stars tonight,
clouds, foretelling of morning rain
have made the night black.
You sense the waves, rather than seeing them,

like some elemental radar
telling you they are pulling away,
low tide.

It is a long way until morning,
a long way before you know whether
you are hero or victim in your own story,
its twists and turns bewildering even you.

Perhaps you will die here
in this simplicity you seek.
Perhaps the tides will bear you
away with your barely tasted bottle,

more flotsam, lost in the night.

Or perhaps this is where the miracle happens
and light is found, here where there is no light
and you will stand and rage at the tide,
Lear-like, majestic and mad

and unlike that broken king,
you will await the sunrise,
ready to dance, David-like,
insane with joy.

About this poem

I am 60 for a month longer. Considering the journey so far, I have no idea what lies ahead, and don’t even pretend I do.

But I am hopeful.

Tom