"A Line in the Sand"

 

Deserted cold front far and gone

Until the rise of the nearest dawn

January--hideous winter for it is not what it claims

Though the tears from the angels is all that remains

Neither preparation nor intention settles the score

As if it were the kickoff to D-Day in the weary war:

Marching from the base in the distance up north

Now, here come your armor; let forth

Marching through the torrential downpour

Proceeding out of my reach to fetch and explore

Marching the rhythm of "Ain't No Mountain High Enough"

Vowing someday, I will be loved

Marching continuously beneath the sinister sky

To seek the stunning with my enigmatic eyes

Beyond the mud-drenched fields, I acknowledge the land

The point of no return is here; I draw a line in the sand

A gigantic oak captured as the command post

From this point forward, in every sense--I am a ghost

A looking in view as I crouch to rest

Everything in place; perfect for a sniper's nest

There she appears in flamboyant fleece

Unaware of my will that has been released

I was not satisfied I did not catch an eye

Her presence startles me when she is close by

Fifteen minutes was more than enough

If only I could reach a gorgeous snuff

Distraction after distraction, it happened so fast

I warn myself this time: it will not be the last