The Tide Stands Still
Late at night, the tide stands still,
for one brief moment in perfect equilibrium
between coming and going.
There are no souls up this late to see
the world in balance
before the moon twists and turns
and the seas begin their dance again.
But you see, and smile wistfully,
wondering what it must be like,
that place of suspended animation
where there are no pulls on your soul,
no battle, no haters, no loud angry voices
void of any purpose but to pull the world this way or that
uncaring what broken flotsam
they leave on the shore.
About this poem
We all know people like that. Even if you don’t follow politics.