for Tressia
A sight this winter beach all white and desolate. I guess even the sea
So many lost among battlefields and blood spills Letters written and never sent.
Children swing north to south on grey rusted chains - red to them. Seasons move,
I wish you were like the shells I’ve collected through the years. I know they can’t wash away anymore
The rain is like an old love song. It’s been with me many times before, to call me to sleep
We slept within the same sphere captured happily under morning’s dew. As children
Riding to the water’s edge that da… Her and I on horses she’d ridden many times before.
I left today or did I? I kept telling myself that I was going home so I could be alone
This is my first poem to you. They’ll be many more as long as there are seasons to write them in.
If the sands of time that I have spent in tears were poured on me I would be crushed in a single moment.
At times I may speak too much of the sea. That is where my last lover came from,
As I sit and watch the moonlight vibrate on the horizon tossed from wave to wave a tear drops down my cheek.
Come with me and I will paddle us across the south side of heaven. I’ll spread out a handful of stars
Sitting on silent drift the ocean beside me. Wrestling waters paint the shore as the brush
Religion makes devils of us all. Pain puts things into perspective. “In the beginning...” we asked our… “Who we are, where we are and why… and we invented gods.