A white stone tumbles slowly…
A white stone tumbles slowly Along a deserted beachside While a fair mist takes flight in the distance, Carrying with it spirited melodies And conversations that drew circles On walls eroded by legions of Chapped hands grasping at A frayed baton perpetually in retreat.
Here, a star is planted on fertile ground And watered with the blood Of youthful impetus and memories of home Become remote as the gentle crow Perched atop a lonely buoy Prostrate in eternal supplication.
It shrieks in tune to a mother’s last kiss And remembers all the lullabies not sung But not yet forgotten, Or all the blemished letters Jumbled in safekeeping, Including the one with the words “home soon” On the bottom, Readable to only the most restive eyes.
A name emerges indistinctly On an edifice of wandering souls Awaiting muster’s call. What life does it embody, Save a faceless history Of unanswered calls for a Surrender of bad faith To conscience and humanity?
Where does each point of this star meet In a unity of final purpose, Where the shore engulfs the last stone And retreats to a place where Glory Disrobes her dubious sateen cloth?
Where a comrade is here to greet A fellow survivor for the last time, Before one of them enters the depths Of remembered feats Relegated to motionless distances?
The souls have gathered up And they spring forth as the Children they had begun to love And continue to, stronger still. Look at these hands, And count the scars, But also count the impressions Of multifarious seeds that blossom In remembrance of these walls,
These dedicated parchments Fortified by the chapped skin Of hands that dared not cease
Art: “Wreath Out to Sea” Johanna Bohoy