The Gull

It rises above
the dunes shadow,
gull rising, October sun, the early fading.

Rhythmic bleating, endless and ungrowing,
oblivious to  pendantic dancing,
word to word, glance to glance, measured conversations.

This middle movement, these greying eyes, faded glances,
the fading touches,
…the gull rising, bleating.

The sand under calloused feet,
the quiet shush shush of feet on dry, beaten rock,
the shadow of the gull,
the still of midnight ocean,
the muted roar, echoes
through silent nights

The sorrowed sailor,
beating towards always empty shores.

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About Martin

I'm just... filling time.
This entry was posted in Creative Writing, Loss, Love, poetry, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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