Friday, March 31, 2017

autumn 02

This seashore is littered with death,
Discarded shells bereft of flesh.
The wind blows, the seagull cries,
My footprints are erased by the tide.

A bitter memory of happier times,
Before our love withered and died,
Leaves me to walk with faltering steps.
I am a shadow of my former self.

And so it is, mid-stride and mid-breath,
There's a phone call to tell me she's dead.
I'm alone, 'neath a dull grey sky.
The wind blows, the seagull cries.

This seashore is littered with death
And I have so many regrets.

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