A boat drifts up into our dock
but collides with a nearby rock.
Two hands lift, a lone body saved
from its too-soon-met water grave.
Our joined hands are not quite enough
and we both drown.
Dredged from the seas' perilous shore,
I am pulled to the land once more
yet
the body stays, sunk
as its friends forget
the cost to be free:
the fate that we met.
A weight- a boy tugs firm on me
and you swim away, light and free;
true, you call out for hands to help.
But you weren't there to hear him yelp
a dreadful cry;
the boy the water pulled in.
All he needed was
your hand to lift him.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry, the Stars; and whatever Space lies between
PoesíaPoetry from my teens. Rather edgy, slightly disjointed, questionably articulated.... Not unlike my life.
