Gone is the music flat waves,
To far to see and to old to be what
Other's still have left to have.
It is here nearly gone, the cup once was full
And being once filled, left that cold, cold hole
In my heart.
I once was the tree and you were the bush,
Filled with leaves.
And as the tide begins to recede the sea is
Even now full of rocks.
I see the small fish in their very small pond and try
Not to wonder if there able to have larger thoughts.
I lay in the surf seeking release and the water is
Over my head.
Growing weary and tired of being alone, after love.
Copyright © James McLain | Year Posted 2017
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Such a brilliant write.....