The Voice

Author: Sarah Bailey

A poem about my grandfather, who recently passed away. He had been a sailor in his younger days, and frequently told us grandkids tales of the sea and took us to Battery Point in Portishead, Bristol, to show us the ships.

the voice rolls on, gently bathing the grainy shores as
a lighthouse flashes.
stark light, exposing the emptiness, then gone as quickly as
it has appeared.
the voice rolls on, deep and calm and full of the ocean, salty and fresh and
all that hear the voice know instantly of its wisdom, its strength, its vigour,
the faceless vessels that journey across its path are drawn, closer and
closer; the children kneel below and wonder at its magnitude.
the voice rolls on. though the silence beckons, the waves will bear its weight and the low tender tones will remain, an echo evermore on the spray