Grief's ghost
Years later I retrace my journey,
a train, then ferry, then a bus to the sea.
I stand alone before the waves, bracing
against the cold, remembering
how relentless the wind is here.
Was it really me who was here before?
With grief as vast as the ocean,
as barren as this shore.
The air is filled with haunting calls,
of gulls before the silence falls,
over the roar of waves.
I remember that roar of grief in me,
with fury enough to tear cliffs to the sea.
Leaving me hollowed, drowned remains,
washed up on some unknown shore.
And now I hear grief’s ghost roar.
Wave,
after wave,
of memories rush up the sand.
I’m dizzied as they are drawn back,
pulling me towards
the sea.
The tears I was trying so hard to hold in,
come rolling out with the tide.
And join the thousands,
and millions,
of empty shells that cover the ground,
and stones, beaten smooth and round,
by the ceaseless sea.
I weep for the past-me who was here before.
For all the pain he would endure.
And I weep, now, for me.
Posted May 23, 2022, 8:16 AM UTC