In the mornings I would walk
Along the shore-line
Whistling 'Sous les Ponts de Paris'
It was there that I would see her
To me the skies were blue
To her - grey
Lifeless and grey like the ocean
A desert the colour of steel
Often she would stop
Collect a shell
Studying this thing
Thrown up by the surf
Then she would toss it
Into the desert
Returning it back home
Wondering at its existence
Often I longed to run up
To stop her
To ask if she would mind
My company for a bit
But I never did do that
I left her
To what? - succumb
Victim to a preying world
I saw her once
Not her
Captured in a self portrait
So beautiful - so young
There her scarf was beige
On the beach - red
Once it streamed in the wind
Like the tail of a young boy's kite
Now she is gone
I still walk the shore
I read about her passing in the paper
I still whistle 'Sous les Ponts de Paris'
A child skips down to the sand
He takes her place
His kite soars upwards
Its tail is beige.
- Author: dbremner ( Offline)
- Published: February 8th, 2011 08:04
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 87
- Users favorite of this poem: Emi, erin wynette, Cheeky Missy
Comments2
i love the way you write!!!i can't help but put myself into the shoe of that girl!!!
Wow! Thanks a lot! Thanks for lending person to the poem!!
hahahaha!!!you're welcome!!!there is something in youe poem, maybe the words you use that makes feel as if am the girl you're referring to and made me wanna say, YES ITS FOR ME!.IT'S FOR ME!!!am dreaming...lol
Then I dedicate the poem to you!
weeeeeeeeeee!!!i'd love that!!thank you so much!!!hahaha..
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.