Through delicately latticed branches the morning sun is rising,
gently lifting the nights residue fog.
The harbour where peeling boats used to lean
is filled full with a sparkling blue.
A portrait uninterrupted, a fresco renewed with fresh breeze.

Through easy skies a playful bird dances a rhythm all to himself;
such a care-free fellow, no need for human quarrels.
On the pier an old bench, boastful to no man, smiles
and declares to the world that it is still standing!
Patiently it waits for accepting occupant.

Quietly acknowledging anyone that will sit to keep company or pass time,
the old bench watches the waves, so full of life, so adventurous.
Longing to bathe in the shimmering surf but forced into voyeuristic jealousy,
the manifesting clouds of violent hurricanes appear on the horizon.
A reverenced silence sweeps into the harbour, a moment of calm.

Water once silent erupt toward scornful skies,
lost from their innocence to dark figures, flashing smiles of false pretense.
Through the maelstrom, with purpose lost and a growing insignificance,
weary woods discover a fresh sense of revitalization.
‘Harness the wrath of Neptune; offer it in triumph to Apollo. ‘

Shards of frigid waters spew forth, drawing from every form
to pool a complex reservoir, deep and expansive.
They stalk such moments wherein slanted light can evaporate
true meanings and hold them as a cloud; grey and troublesome.
And as the bashful sun shines its brightest,

metaphors pour heavy before the masses.