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Memories
at the Sea |
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by W.F. Manchester |
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| I visit the ocean, |
| Where you held your hand in mine as
we ambled along the water’s edge, |
| The psychedelic roar of waves
crashing in and roiling about our feet, |
| Sucking sounds of sand being pulled
back to the sea, |
| Our footprints’ strident protests
against obliteration… |
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| The places we once traced, |
| No remembrance holding out, |
| I find no solace in the empty
beach, |
| Desolate without your presence. |
| Memories are lemon rinds on my
tongue, |
| I swig down large drafts of rum to
quell the bitterness |
| And walk on numbly in the cold… |
|
| As the shore runs away into the
eternal horizon, |
| I see you lying far away |
| In that cold and sterile room, |
| Between crisp white sheets, |
| Magenta lips matching magenta
bruises on your face and forehead, |
| Lips I love so much hushed forever
in the rushing riptide of death as it comes to sweep you |
| far away from me… |
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| I am at the mercy of the sea, |
| A gray monolith, immobile,
unfeeling, |
| Waves crash about me, |
| My mouth is open, |
| As if to speak, |
| The silence between the drivel
hides the answers I cannot seem to find, |
| And what is there to say, anyway? |
| She is gone, |
| I remain… |
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