A Body On the Shore
Crabs claw at the body of the man on the shore, but he doesn’t care, he needs it no more. Did a wave take him over the side, cradled in its arms for a watery ride? Or did he take a deep breath and dive, had he grown tired of being alive, committing sins unintended and those for gain, a lifetime trembling, a leaf in the rain who didn’t care how he died, a life lived and concluded without any pride? Were there those who might come and mourn, would anyone care that he’d ever been born? His life was spent with his stealings, neither silver nor gold, but feelings plucked from lovers, plucked from friends, they were all means to his ends, and now here he lies, the sole sounds of mourning are the gulls’ cries.
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Bluejay
Veteran of old My Poetry Forum before its hiatus. Happy to be back.
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