By Josué Vargas

Patterns

Alone at the sea,
the air is salty and clean
evil muttering has ceased
and silent angels guard the scene

It makes me think, and recall old dreams
of childhood and sorrow,
not that they’re a different thing.
But that wound is also relieved

By the playful battle of the rocks
against the waves.
Old friends,
children of the centuries
who never cease to pretend being unseen

Oh if I would become a rock,
become the ocean’s own
that I won’t see love turned bitter
and men become what they abhor

For it is all laid down in patterns,
seems to me, a cosmic joke.
Not that it’s all gloom and wrong,
but it’s all doomed to end, and everyone is doomed to mourn.

But not the waves, they won’t,
nor will the rocks notice
when all you care about , is gone.

Their game goes on, and on, and on,
a mighty battle, just for fun.
Pretending being unseen by
the yearning eyes of those

who would be waves and rocks but instead,
are a wonderful dream
between dawn and dusk

Patterns

Alone at the sea,
the air is salty and clean
evil muttering has ceased
and silent angels guard the scene

It makes me think, and recall old dreams
of childhood and sorrow,
not that they’re a different thing.
But that wound is also relieved

By the playful battle of the rocks
against the waves.
Old friends,
children of the centuries
who never cease to pretend being unseen

Oh if I would become a rock,
become the ocean’s own
that I won’t see love turned bitter
and men become what they abhor

For it is all laid down in patterns,
seems to me, a cosmic joke.
Not that it’s all gloom and wrong,
but it’s all doomed to end, and everyone is doomed to mourn.

But not the waves, they won’t,
nor will the rocks notice
when all you care about , is gone.

Their game goes on, and on, and on,
a mighty battle, just for fun.
Pretending being unseen by
the yearning eyes of those

who would be waves and rocks but instead,
are a wonderful dream
between dawn and dusk

                           Josué Vargas - 2022 Ⓒ