out on the mudflats washed up by an angry sea a shell remains parched by the sun a little bright paint to remind whoever bothers to look of the colour they once had hauntingly beautiful shapes at dusk ghosts with shrouded faces
Silt there to block the estuary a danger to shipping of no use to anyone but foolish romantics who see the glory days gone by a little sense of history, reverence to the way things used to be
when they're gone another age will discard the waste of lonely forgotten souls on the shoreline
Dost thee care for it which belongest not to you ? Dost thee care for them who walk on wreckage as thou didst? Why are the words misconstrued? Why is the truth hard to you? Ever that thou sowest When yieldest the possibility of lowest Measure thine life's circumference Since thou revolvest most near the dark Often it be the most absorbed How thou mess with a mere sector Yet the most of it collapsest Sweating in the smoke to keep going It requirest lest of a hope Thee who dost not hear the screams Cannot hear the sayings
Those qualms pushing to help that which benefits us nothing To care for those who're going through that which we once nagged about Those push and pulls could be the way to acumen
Do you sit in the corner, and gaze around in greyness? Does this universe too smother your breaths? Does pain palpate your wounds? Do you yell over your own wrecks? Are you as empty as I am? Dear life, are you too lifeless?