***** and he
make their way
across the stretch
of sand
behind them,
the hard rock land
of memory
the crustaceans
will return--the tides
their clock
not he;
this march
is his last,
waves will
swallow him
gag him
while he briefly
forgets his purpose
and clings to
this world;
soon though,
his lungs with fill
he will sink
to depths:
a blue burial,
a seaweed symphony
his dirge
the ***** return,
but not he--the ebb and flood
of waters no longer
his province
(poem's image: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=1174175556043500&set;=a.102525519875181.1742.100003531994461&type;=3&theater;¬if;_t=like¬if;_id=14914495906541620
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 9:45 PM UTC
***** and he
make their way
across the stretch
of sand
behind them,
the hard rock land
of memory
the crustaceans
will return--the tides
their clock
not he;
this march
is his last,
waves will
swallow him
gag him
while he briefly
forgets his purpose
and clings to
this world;
soon though,
his lungs with fill
he will sink
to depths:
a blue burial,
a seaweed symphony
his dirge
the ***** return,
but not he--the ebb and flood
of waters no longer
his province
(poem's image: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=1174175556043500&set;=a.102525519875181.1742.100003531994461&type;=3&theater;¬if;_t=like¬if;_id=14914495906541620
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