Generic

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.

A Body On the Shore