Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been to cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
Not my poem.
YOU ARE READING
The Lost
PoetryThis is for those with the swollen, tired eyes. This is for those who wake up every morning and cries. This is for those who are abused at home. This is for those who feel isolated and alone. This is for those who have attempted/have committed suici...
