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Lost at the fall,

of dusk, forlorn, awaiting dawn,

we have withdrawn, not so patiently pacing the ocean floor,

staring upwards at the shore, in hopes of something more,

Piscean memories are stored,

the facts cannot be ignored,

slightly desensitised,

mistaken and now it is clear why

but clarity always comes at a price,

there is not much left inside,

of the sea-creature that once did reside,

in the belly of the beast, feeding off like a leach,

it died,

just like the blindingly white, daylight,

which was taken over by darker skies,

yet nothing can truly hide,

in the safety net of the night,

when the molecular structure of water is broken down into wine,

a taste really quite refined,

so much revealed,

cracked open the concealed,

elemental forecast,

tells me that nothing will last,

because the ebbing sea,

does not agree,

with the easy breeze,

instead it laps up violently anything in it’s way,

stating it’s claim,

with no regret and no shame.





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