On Returning To Shore Poem by Robert Dummett

Evening. He shuffled along golden sands
winding widgets like a thief planning
burglary. He paused near the moss green
mangrove roots plaited through shallows in black
eyeshadow where the gossiping stream
clashing with scissored foam goes dumb
its bubbly cut flat. Watching sea
creasing with breakers rushing to brim the bay
as crest froths and weeds waver, he struggles
to forget the pain of humiliation
and scars of solitude, but history's
hieroglyphs can be read on dark frames.
Once the 'blue-eyed boy', he held respect
at a glance leading voices of protest
till change broke the shackles of race and clan
and dreams wore the crown of rebirth. Forgotten,
he remembers treasures stored in vessels
of his mind that time, like a banker,
hid in vaults. Taking cover he stared
at a schooner slipping port and longed
to climb with stars to port. Now, surf catches
epileptic fits, foams like a demon
topping the edge of shadowy sands
until evening's benediction soothes roars
to rest. Perhaps this is his last sashay
on this coast. Locked safely in his heart
he takes love of country and like
ebbing tide will part soon in sadness
straining to peer through misty eyes.