Bordering the shoreline
I sit and waste some more time
in the filigree
of my soliloquy.
I say,
I want to be freed from the need
but there's only me
with the sea
and it doesn't listen,
If I could only be stone cast up on the beach
out of reach of the ocean
with no thought of emotions.
Just a stone
my throne would be the sea that does not hear
does not fear the income of another tide.
I could ride like a King as the Northerlies sing
songs of heaven and hell.
All would be well.
But I am flesh
I am bone
born to wander and to roam through the restlessness
where there's always less than there is more
unlike the shoreline where I sit
where I wallow in self pity
and unless things start to change and get better
this will be
my final letter
to you.
When the sky is drawing clouds across the corners of my mind
and my eyes are being assaulted by the pictures that they make
I take another moment to myself
think about self help and then dismiss the thought.
I have bought in welts and scars the tradings of my days
spent idly in the seedy bars spread out along the ways I took.
Roads may lead to Rome
but for this man ,flesh and bone
mistook the meaning of returning home and rambled on into the brambles of another ambush
another rush into that place where angels do not tread.
One day when I am dead
I wonder if you'll remember me.
The sea will not forget
it will turn again to land and take me by the hand.
With the other I shall wave goodbye
to the shoreline,
my baseline
and the wasting of
all time.