Just another story

I remember the years
of my first youth
when I and I walked the sun,
never dreaming of a past future,
nor yielding to the crass octopus,
lurking in the capital sea.

Now I melt my days
to the sound of small children,
longing of anchors
that match the coming tide.
I am the inherent struggle
between what must be said
and gulls without strings.




Poetry by Bob
Read 550 times
Written on 2011-05-31 at 20:36

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