Wishful moments, you hope for
But, you’ll merely lay your head forward,
To weep the lands infertile soils away,
And soon seen the end of days.
Your eyes hang heavy
Upon all times, when your head sinks on the harbor,
When your body sinks on the shoreline,
When your face digs into the sand,
And your tears soon create the ocean,
For that is where you believe it wise, to die.
A soul, as yours, flows outward to see the ships,
And where they rock.
You wish that was an infant,
The one you had lost.
What contempt do you notice, of yourself?
Within what life, do you truly see death?