The sea is calm tonight.

The stars, afraid by day, emerge
To dance upon glassy black mirrors,
Circling in their timeless games.
The rising crescent moon peeks
Cautiously from its watery den,
Silvery soft and searching still
For its missing pieces this night.
The wind which by day
Had been relentless in its rage
Is now subdued to but a breeze-
A gentle caress of warmth
Rather than the crisp sting of ire.
The salt which before burned nostrils
Is now the invitation of familiarity
And the comfort of the well known.
The bright fires and bitter storms
Of all the sun-drenched days
Are at last absent tonight,
But never forgotten.
Waves which used to crash
Upon the rocky cliffs below
Now bring with them the mystery
Of endless end-less voyages
And a thousand watery graves.
The mariners tell tales of the turbulence
Of the day’s fabulous storms and horrible gales
In safe small taverns by the wharf
Before dispersing to their peaceful slumbers
While the sea slumbers along,
Both resting for their next go-round.
Smoke still rises from the land
Which will forever bear the scars
Of violence forced upon its brow
And torment beaten from its heart.
And all to what end does it go,
These terrors born of friction’s rub?
What purpose serves such hatred
When the only grade is failing?
The days offer no solace now,
Every sanctuary exposed to the sun
And all its bitter realities
Which move lazily or not at all.
The sea still pounds its surf
Into the well worn guardian stones,
Using daylight as its sledge
To smash the breakers into submission.
The scarless sea is calm this night,
And most nights-

But the sun also rises.