Trudging On The Reserve Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

I walk
Trudging on the reserve
Of verses
A small arsenal
Explosive to who succeeds
In opening the iron door
Of recollections white:

I walk
I walk
And not far
The sea runs on the pebbles
Grating them and rolling
Them
In love and hate and
Play

I walk
I walk
I understand a little more
In the drear thirst
In this agony of poetic dysentery:
Pride walks alone
Poor Figure erect-proud
While the Ocean grates
The pebbles….
Under the moon's light.