The waves rush onto shore
as thoughts of you rush into my mind,
I listen
to the thoughts.
The waves are a background noise,
but they are louder than my thoughts.
I listen to the waves,
to the stories they have to tell.
They speak of the children.
They whisper about the people.
The children who play upon the shores.
The people who were once those children.
They miss those old children.
Where did they go?
Will they return?
The waves of this beach
tell a story of yearning.
A story of grieving.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
The waves rush onto shore
as thoughts of you rush into my mind,
I listen
to the thoughts.
The waves are a background noise,
but they are louder than my thoughts.
I listen to the waves,
to the stories they have to tell.
They speak of the children.
They whisper about the people.
The children who play upon the shores.
The people who were once those children.
They miss those old children.
Where did they go?
Will they return?
The waves of this beach
tell a story of yearning.
A story of grieving.
Request permission to use this poem