From mist that rises from the surf below
the rocks here and along this scarp are wet
It pains me deep; I muse but never get
an answer, of why she decided to go
the way of ghostly brume, fading like
she never was here leaving just a trace
of wetness; tears on the stone’s sad face
I lean to windward on this rugged dyke
against the sea and I remember the
brief walk of joy together; we went near
the golden gates of perfect fealty dear,
You said, I will be here above the sea
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Author:
George (My real name) (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 24th, 2017 11:04
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 41
- Users favorite of this poem: kevin browne
Offline)
Comments1
beautiful, my friend. I worked on the sea from age 13 to 19 and have never forgotten how beautifully it can express itself. I love this poem.
Kevin, I have a love for sailing that I discovered when my oldest son taught me how to sail. Unfortunately I've done 99% of my many years sailing on fresh water reservoirs and only once on the Atlantic. I sailed in a 60 foot sloop, with a group, 90 miles from Miami to Bimini in the Caribbean. What an experience, it's one I'll never forget. If reincarnation actually happens I hope I come back as a person of the sea next time. BTW, I'm a little confused with this website so in the event I didn't thank you for your kind comments, I thank you now. Cheers!!
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