Rolling.
Rolling in and
Rolling out;
Waves and years
Rolling from far horizons
To the end of time.
Some swell to pregnant bloom,
Then roll serenely back,
Leaving a shimmering pleasure.
Others break into a frothy fiesta;
Splashes of excitement.
The wind whips some
Into a salty, stinging mist,
Bringing tears,
That blur our vision.
Some bring riches from deep,
Depositing them at our feet
For us to reap.
But know that
There will always be
Those that rip.
Leaving scars;
Exposing rocky spurs
That we must heed,
To not stub our feet
As we cross the sands
Of our time.
READ MORE POEMS BY SHARON HEANEY STANSFIELD