Tuesday, June 13, 2017
Tuesday, June 6, 2017
The Sea of Wait
The Sea of Wait
By Peter-John Campbell
Drifting...
Drifting...
Drifting...
Drifting.
Drifting. Drifting.
Upon
the Sea of Wait.
This
bitter soul of mine grows cold
My
heart has turned to bait.
Aimless,
I float this barren tide
through
every peek and trough.
The
dead calm ever more to bear
then
the tempest ever was.
Drifting.
Drifting. Drifting.
I
waft this lonely brine.
Churning
like vultures the shakes await
their
meal is soon to find.
Alas,
on the horizon found
a
glimpse of isle or land.
I
strain myself for one last row
a
mirage is all that's there.
Drifting. Drifting. Drifting.
My body broke'
and sore
I long, I pine, I yearn, to wake
upon some distant shore.
Drifting... Drifting... Drifting...
Drifting...
Drifting...
Drifting...
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