Tide

The tide turns
And begins pounding the shore
Persistent eroding
Harder and faster
The uncontrollable force
Breaking down the defence
Constant corroding
Faster and harder

The tide turns
And retreats its brutal attack
Erasing its resistance
Softer and slower
The monstrosity recoils
Leaving its destruction
For another day
Slower and softer

I feel my insides churn
You have the upper-hand
Leaving me vulnerable
Upon the blood soaked sand

I was created this past spring
atop a tall and leafy thing.
By avoiding a late frost
neither I nor all my kin were lost.

Survival of my small drab flower
high up in this woody tower
led to my being pollinated
by pods that are most underrated.

By the time full leaf out came
I was ahead in this one game
to becoming more than just a nub
in the forest's central hub.

`

a grated gate in midnight's light
once fell upon a sorry sight
as rain washed out the scarlet stain
the skies bowed down to hear the pain

a voice without a body heard
the sordid tale its waist did gird
one witness found, torn leaf by leaf
Creation's glory sank to grief

a tale no word was writ nor said
into the ground the silence bled
a soaked and orphaned quill remains
fraught with want of trilled refrains

I've researched, and I've written
about when, "twilight time" appears,

history proves it's different each night
and there's something about shadows, and mirrors.

But, I can tell you something
that narrows it down, even more,

just grab an odd numbered moonbeam,
and, you'll be gone before your feet hit the floor!

That's not to say it happens, everytime,
it depends greatly, on ebb and on flow;