dire days of September I dare not venture

dire days of September I dare not venture
into the forest seaweed of even more
than I cannot roll with my watery eyes
open now without reptiled friction

I can still hear the waves breaking
the shriek of seagulls above the tide
there are no concessions left to go
for the process to fail at last

growing tired is older than I am
whispering at every turn of the screw
dreading the final call of a bell
before the going is home




Poetry by Bob
Read 536 times
Written on 2015-09-15 at 20:33

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