Some Hundred Feet

A seaside fort overlooks

waves of emerald;

An ocean oscillates

while a lone guardsman

meanders along its stone rampart.

 

Some hundred feet below,

amber kelp amasses as

would colony of ants;

arduous ebb of life

whispers like breeze through

Autumn’s fading fields of grain.

 

To the lone guardsman,

his post is plinth of Excellence.

To the nestled papaya,

that post is bait for Sorrow:

 

Some hundred feet below,

synchronous nature scrapes along

ever decaying pumice throne

Some hundred feet above,

lone guardsman scrapes boot along

ever aging stone;

 

Bamboozled, he gazes:

For up on the moon,

chalky dust settles

 

And some hundred feet above,

a plethora of stars

wink while the heavens hum:

for the gravitas of his lonesome watch

is not dictated by defense of some

 

manmade seaside fortress,

but rather by the cataloguing

and observation of

Spirituality.

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