Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Miles Away Gray

Not with this wind blowing, and this tide – Rudyard Kipling

Waves crash in miles away gray.
I cannot see them or hear them
from where I wander the shoreline
in search of your face, my son.

I cannot see them or hear them
as they rise and fall and die white.
In search of your face,
I go unheard as they go unheard.

As they rise and fall and die white,
your goodbye becomes a pale stare.
I go unheard as they go unheard.
When will you return, my son?

Your goodbye becomes a pale stare
from where I wander the shoreline.
When will you return?
Waves crash in miles away gray.




The Monarch Review - May 14, 2013

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