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...





Note: I wrote this piece many years ago, during a very difficult time in my life. Recently a good friend of mine, who has read much of my unpublished work, encouraged me to release this one. 

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