-- At Home in a Seashell –
John Herlihy
Awakening, he lived in a seashell,
On the edge of an endless shore.
A remarkable life forever to tell,
Of magic and mystery and more.
On the outside as a hand-painted scarf,
Soothing the eye, beautiful to behold.
On the inside as a hand-crafted carafe,
The aromas of an age-old wine to hold.
The environment not of his choosing,
Although here he intended to stay.
To depart would be an act of losing,
The shell’s beauty as it made its way.
Every day turned into an escapade,
The sound of the ocean in his ears.
Ocean rhythms a kind of charade,
Echoing happiness, suffering, tears.
The way of this world picturesque,
Tempered by wave strokes of ocean.
Images beyond the shell grotesque,
Bereft of any sheen of magic potion.
The soothing sound of waves magical,
As brushstrokes upon a work of art.
Light and shadow with aura fantastical,
The innermost chamber reveals a heart.
There in deep recesses of the interior,
The maze-like corridor ever narrowing.
Into a mysterious neverland ulterior,
With premonitions of night harrowing.
The shell’s interior a place for romance,
Only to be found in the innermost core.
Where two hearts may frolic and dance,
Beyond the horizon on a celestial shore.
The darkness increasing with every step,
Eyes closing behind the eyelids of doves.
Inner seeing leads to a magical doorstep,
To find a landscape of what one loves.
In the depths, a garden of oceanic delights,
In cathedralesque splendor, tolling of bells.
A spiral enclosure descending from heights,
In dimming caverns, rare mystery foretells.
Unfolding mystery suddenly becomes known,
Far down a red fox trail, like an opening fan.
World in a world, in faith and security sewn,
The snail, in contentment, at home a lone man.
There, at rest safely in the middle of his world,
Life as a reality in the midst of a sublime dream.
There in the protective walls of the shell curled,
In such confines, knowing what all things mean.
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Copyright ©John Herlihy
Friday 25 March 2022
Growing up landlocked in the middle of the continent, the only sound of the seashore was from occasional conch shells that people had gathered in far-off beaches that one could hear the tinkle of waves while holding it to the ear.
Probably the source of much misleading information that seems to grow ever more prominent in a world where people are viewing or hearing things that great distance that are not really as they seem.
Ron