Poetry of the Tides

And There Was None

And then there were none

There is not much sound left

This nomadic caravan bells still jingle

The wagons are all about

In pieces

Poor May with the blood all dried up

Sue got dragged away

Dave is done

Old Tom don't want to know what happened to him

Kamen too

None of the others could have fled

It was too fast

It has been that long

And then there were none

Just of course me and you

Me with this festering wound

Me without the strength to move

I cannot shout

It is what happens when you are pinned down by a barrel

Even more with a wound

As for you

you big bird with your beak

You will get your due

For now it is the dry and red sands

The iron smelling air

The morning sun

The unanswered prayer

What kind of robbers try and rob the poor?

What kind of robbers bother those who were willing to share?

I suppose I will never know.

But will you now have your due...