.

.

Our harbour beneath lax moonlight

Casts grey timeless shadows

Across smooth silent rock

Of borrowed land

Set tall by youth

Slanted steadfast against

Life’s bitter nature

We cling, fingers chaffed, as

Treasonous tides buffet

The soft under-edge of our existence

Exploiting faults of pride

Fissures in foundations

Seldom explored

Ugly, barnacled,

Unredeemable, aged

Submerged anxieties

The dismissed beauty

Of our intrinsic self

Until

Through salted tears

Clasping bleached handkerchiefs

We wave our lingering farewells

Towards the pitied, eroded quayside

Of carved, chiselled stone

Built of false strengths

Of fear

Of acceptance

Grip wanes

And we are free

.

.

 

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