At the mouth of the Clyde river
Outside Glasgow, the fog gathers
Over deepest waters, dark mirrors
Hold secrets of the earth’s marrow.
A ship’s hull slices ancient whispers,
Waves rise and fall like old hands
Trying to recall a forgotten dance,
The sea’s voice hoarse with history.
The firth sleeps in heavy stillness,
A seabird cries out like a warning,
But the wind, indifferent, presses on,
Carrying salt and sorrow alike.
In the depths, shadows twist, waiting,
Fish swim like ghosts of drowned men,
Their cold eyes searching the gloom
For traces of light that never come.
The land watches with stone patience,
Its cliffs crumbling like tired elders,
As the firth swallows another day,
Leaving nothing but silence behind.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: August 16th, 2024 12:36
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 45
- Users favorite of this poem: Eugene S., sorenbarrett, Cheeky Missy
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Comments5
Brilliant! Love it!
The Eugene, I appreciate your generous feedback brother
Stunning images painted so poetically. A vision in this poem. Very nicely worded.
L9ve it
"the wind, indifferent, presses on" ... Aye Laddie, a fine job you've done hear.
Well now I have to see Glasgow and the Clyde for myself, thank you for the inspiration!
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