A poem in waiting. Write it.

[twelveoone]

The Wind speaks gently now
of the laughter and tiny feet
that skittered down down
to the sand
down
to the sea
to see for the first time
the waves that called to them
and brought the shells
the treasures
to hide and slide in the box
under the bed.

But the Sun fell into the water
and the voices grew faint
and the Sea was jealous
and went away to sulk
and stew and threw
a childish tantrum.

The Wind grew
It swirled and spit
pulled the heat to its bosom
reaching out ever farther
angrier, raging with Her envy
and then She dove
and drove
the water before Her
higher, faster
til She found those voices, and
She pulled them to Her

Out of beds, and out of schools
away from mothers and Daddys
out of cars, and out of Grammys
arms
Pulled and thrashed
clutching
all those laughing voices
and skittering feet

They aren't gone
completely
Listen! The Wind
brings them back
and if you are quiet
you will hear
the Wind speak gently now
of the laughter and tiny feet
that skittered down down
to the sand
down
to the sea
... for the last time.

Boo,
sorry,
as another suggestion - I like the anaphora (I think that is the technical term) of the second stanza
and the ..
and the...
I'm just not buying the Seven deadly sins part, or the childish tantrum. I also like the
all those laughing voices
and skittering feet of the fouth, suggest the same use of repitition
make it that sad song.

 

[Guest]

Lovely picture, Lauren. I'm positive I've been there.

Last swim

It's a cold sea
that makes them shiver
in the air hugging
bright towels to chins
the sun has lost
its warmth
as they scamper over sand
but the wood is warm
underfoot trod
carefully to avoid
the last of summers
splinters.