By the Sea

 

 

     I have come to dream again,

I have come to hear and sense the waves,

     I am ghosting ‘the free’ again as my naked body rests.

 

     A canvas dwelling has the salt close -

while a single malt is savoured, finely hoped,

     and here as wild as can be the lore relaxes a hunt,

          says that all will one day ‘still’ be fine.

 

     I have my troubles as I wake on every snore -

but here there is no schedule to accord and no necessity

     to … … …

 

     … … … my thoughts are hence mine own that

are learning apathy and pause, learning steady cause

to stop the chase and race, stop a clock that is dwindling

     to a draw down.

 

     There is a clown I know and not by choice

but favoured by an overlord who seeks the chastisement

more than any,

     there seems a need for he to ensure that,

no-one be aware of the content of this suffering

     and all declared a ‘woeful strife.’

 

     The pain is always present of family that are missed,

but still the overlord persists the painted tears

rather than let the people know of all suffering of fears,

     fears for all this man has gone beyond horizons -

          and knows the clever deception and complicity by stealth,

               that makes joker of every concern upon humanity;-

                    a concern for every fragile,

                         stolen,

                               life.

 

By the Sea,

     and by the sea,

          where the waves never ever quarrel with the sand.

 

 

Michael J Waite 30th August 2022 (Brora, Scotland).