Plaintive Shores


A wave has crashed again,
It bites the shore as a fallen friend,
Then retreats back to murky water, lying,
In the dark, grating, hissing, sighing,

The sand runs cold; I tread my feet,
Through its coarse grain, I feel,
In the absence of feeling,
What I once left, and what still remains,

Darkness onset, furls the day,
Holds light on the sand, at bay,
Great rocks stand solitary, plaintive, solemn,
Their time has come, but still they loom,
Eroded, erased, stalwart, columns.

The seagulls flit, flutter, flash and fly,
Lone inhabiters of a sunken sky,
Searching for a light to seize,
A futile attempt, a desperate plea,
To find what sun will come again,
And greet the sky as a reborn friend,

And lost amidst this recurring madness,
Is your man, the scribe and protagonist,
Who notes these oddities when he's saddened, downtrodden,
And takes the somber eloquence, others have succeeded in,
And condenses it into poseur's poetry: sad, searching and maudlin,

But this is not about me,
It's about the tender, quiet beach,
That fades into night, yet again,
Every day, like a wearied, predictable friend.

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