I want to be buried beneath
The warm, singing pockets of the earth.
To die a lonely sailor’s death
Is not for me, nature’s walker.
My heart does not lie in the sea;
There’s anguish in the rippling tides,
All those wintry foaming waters,
Glassy green hills of screaming souls,
The harsh white lines of an abyss.
Yet while peace does not need a grave,
My soul yearns for the sunstruck world.
Where I live is where I now die.
I sing for the face of the earth.
YOU ARE READING
Someone Like Me {Poetry}
PoetryWith power there come words. And with words there comes music. And with music there comes joy. And that's why I write poetry.
