I stand before the robust shore
and wonder if I’ll swim
I reach out as far as I can see
and still the light is dim
I hold my hand for someone else
to grasp it and abscond
yet is it time that has run out
or excitement that’s beyond
Beyond foresight and foreboding
a life yet to feel the rain
the thunder speaks only to me
and declares without refrain
It says beware of what’s out there
and what you’re yet to live
it’s only wanton solitude
that speaks to what one gives
It speaks not – of funds transferred
but of sentiment and rhyme
the harbour’s night is glistening
and announces; it is time
Time to free a life stripped bare –
one needs to generate
a cavalcade of merriment
and declare it’s not too late
Too late to say; I share your day
and sleep throughout your night
and turn to see just you and me
in the world we call delight.
sensualism 