I spy with my weatherd eyes
A broken clock that shows me better times from my past life.
As these spiteful tides have turned me
Into a grumpy soul.

This desecrated ship of doubt
It's slowly peeling me away like a potato peeler
I need to grab my papers and maps
To find the breath that I was once searching for.
These scramblings of ramblings
So nonsensical
As they lead me to the fact
That you hate that I bite my nails

Like a hangnail you chew me apart,
Gifting me these splinters from this shovel
That I used as a kid to build mountains of possibilities
Which now leaves me a hole,
To bury my soul with.
Each stone I turn I see these regrets
That look like texts I that shouldn't have sent.

The heavens from above
Have blocked their facebooks
Casting her curses in cursive
Leaving me with my grave,
My shovel,
Memories of you.

These old bones,
crumbling stones
ancient, weatherd
forgotten and cold
are a secret treasure
of limitless measure
of magic and time
rhythm and rhyme
like an enchanted spell
a song you know well
dust of the layers
of insecurity and disguise
and let out the poet inside

There's a new craze
Down on the beech
People are having a blast
Looking for sea glass

Colours brown green and blue
Plus the clear one
You can see straight through

Now glass when broken is sharp
As you know
But the rumble and tumble
Of The ocean
And the smallest grains
Like the wings of a moth
Smoothes the edges right off

Taken from nature
Manipulated by man
Returning unwanted
Weatherd and torn
Something quite unique
Is born