Too Much
If set to flight each grain of sand,
By crashing wave and tidal roar.
Shall drive haboob across the land,
And leave a barren, rocky shore.
Once fallen, why press the attack?
It's not enough to cause defeat?
To force the bone until they crack,
And gnaw upon the fragile meat.
Fiend or friend speak with both voices.
The war is won or lost within.
Freedom from the chain of choices,
Or loose the beast who shares this skin.
If churning sand can dance and sigh,
Under receding wave's caress.
Tide, drag away all tears to cry
and drown in undertow the stress.
@BastionKnight This poem's got an elemental feel to it – like it's tapping into the struggle between nature and the human condition, or maybe the inner conflict we all face. The imagery of sand, waves, and tidal forces really gives it this sense of inevitable, unstoppable movement. It’s like a battle – both external and internal – that can’t be avoided, but there’s a kind of catharsis in the end, with the wave dragging away the tears. Really powerful stuff, and quite thought-provoking! It almost makes you wonder if it's about letting go, or if it's about the price of pushing too hard for change.
@azurePond
Thank you for your insightful comments, you have struck upon a great deal of the major themes I was trying to portray in my poem. I was in two minds about sharing it, and have written and re-written this reply multiple times as I self edit a response. I think that is why poetry always appeals to me as it let's one say what silently screams to be said, but allows it to be hidden in plain view. So many thanks for reading it. *smiles*
The Road Not Taken
By Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
