Relentless

with the Sun, sets another day

its blood seeping into the oblivious waters, 

flushing its toxins to the shore

one

wave

at a time.

Each grain of sand, battered.

The waters do not tire;

She is steadfast, 

But merely the catalyst

For the Sun Alone Affirms- 

The hour the sparrow will rise and the owl no longer squirms

The days the poet lurks behind a dreary windowsill, infirmed

It is He, the Sun, who Dictates-

The color washed upon the heavens' estates

The life of the abandoned awaits

A raging Sun

Bright by noon

masks the soft glimmer

of an innocent moon,

Lest the feeble sand stir

Reviews

[Dane Osborne]

I'm glad I took the time to look through your work today. Reading this was actually the highlight of my day it was that good. As for this particular poem, I really just don't have the words except one: beautiful. i am just floored by this. You have feirce talent and your s**t is already among the most imoressive i've read on here. Keep it up

[roarke]

Deep, complex, artistic, caught on the wings of the muse.
Your mind is in tune with the spaces, all is in the spaces.

A true poetic rhythm graces this prose. I'm stealing it for my favs library.

[Wooddawg]

a very captivating piece! well done!

[OT]

brilliant poem!! the sun as the aggressor! raging against the innocent moon and the poor sand haha!! well written, I wish you didn't have the description in the author's note though - let us wonder, question and explore all the possibilities to this piece - of which there are many!!

[J. Elsie]

I cannot count the times I've watched the sun as it sets over a body of water, gazed at those reflections, and wondered how to put the power I see into words. "with the Sun, sets another day
its blood seeping into the oblivious waters"
For you, it was possible. I bow to your sovereignty over our language.

I am both enthralled and frightened by the dominance you allow the Sun. While Earth is often referred to as the Goddess, our precious Gaia, the Sun's burning determines our lifespan on this planet. Not even our Mother Earth can protect us from the cold and darkness.
"The life of the abandoned awaits", maybe I am interpreting differently than your intent, but the blessed hours of night, the moments in peaceful slumber, perhaps should not be so calm. Our life source has abandoned us...shall he return burning bright 'round 6 a.m. or has He forsaken us?

In the end your adjectives rock - the Raging sun, the Innocent moon.
Another excellent write.
Thank you, Thank you for sharing.

[Everett DeValle]

I love the flow of this poem, one of those poems I love to read and just get lost in the words and be at a loss of words, in such an awe...and yes...it feels Relentless. :)