Often, the wind blew a furious squall,
Gusts, hurricane force – deadly.
Inked hair on the stormy beach;
Strolling away, scowls, feet firmly beneath.
Without even a glance behind.
Sacrificial, scaring, thoughtless.
Nights in December, frail skin,
Life in front of the flames – scorching.
But what of those slashing thoughts,
When all seems truly beneath the waves?
Life lived in a frantic haze…
With the flick of a sudden wrist,
Denouncing all, swearing in retrospect.
Into the distance,
Contemplation, revelation – coming undone;
Undying in the light of perpetual dusk.
Eclipsed by the tides of wanting.
Sun glistening of that youthful skin.
Flowing, ebbing, silently fading.
Lust, and subtle reason – morose.
Silk used to run through my ten digits.
Now… nothing but the sand of ages’,
Nothing but the dust
Of relegated dreams.