Tide of Tears
by Kittiara

The woman stood in the soft white sand,
watching the tide of tears.
Gentle and strong waves of sadness,
rolling with anguish and fears.

She wondered why this should be so;
why tears keep flowing this way.
Why sun nor joy softens the tide.
Why life leads happiness astray.

And why do hopeful smiles keep fading?
Why do strong rocks crumble to dust?
Why do dreams remain unfulfilled?
Why seems love oft merely lust...

She hugged herself pondering the answer.
And why the tears called to her soul...
Who was she but a mere young woman,
watching those waves of desperation roll.

The cold water then caressed her feet.
She looked down, curiously,
at how the waves seemed pacified there,
calm, smooth and peacefully.

Maybe they came to her, knowing
that no matter how they fared,
she was there, watching over them...
She was there, and cared.

For each wave merely sought a home;
a place to return with pride.
And soothe their guardian, she, the woman,
at times when she, herself, cried.

Inca Gold
by Hersius

(with thanks to Andy O'Leary
for similar language that I fortuitously heard wrong)

You were to me
as Inca gold
that forever night
and my secular soul
holds forever tight
your worth to me.

Perfection
by Hersius

We drove the jeep
across Little Swede Creek
and up The Switchback
past the rockslide,
and from the top of Hawkview Ridge
we pulled over
and I photographed you
with The Saddle in the background
and the Big Swede barely visible
in the valley floor beyond
and the ranges completing the distance.
We parked at Bluejay campsite
near the rusted truck
and hiked the criss-crossy Lost Dog Trail
down to Indian Meadows.
We decided against the Hidden Pond side
because of the mosquitos
and chose a spot
near some trickling snowmelt.
That night
the stars never looked so near
and you, well, you were perfect.