i try not to think
like a Queen of all that is sullen:
god bless all those silent wretches
that wallow in the blue and green
because i am one of them, i am
one of them
today.
and when i can't peel back the day;
'cause this july isn't gold
like straw, anymore: we painted it black
in a word on a cliff edge, where
the bluebells weren't blooming --
you know: i won't be collecting my dreams
up like snow, today.
and it's been raining since i got home,
the sea loses its blue to grey,
and i can't unravel a psammead's gentle eye
to cast it all away.
(24/07/2017)
YOU ARE READING
THE OCEAN
Poetry'In the old days at home the Neverland had always begun to look a little dark and threatening by bedtime. Then unexplored patches arose in it and spread, black shadows moved about in them, the roar of the beasts of prey was quite different now, and...
