Bird As Fish

My sense of loss is profound
As empty as the ocean's sound
Morbid as the bleach white bones
The broken sticks, the dead crushed stones

Pastels and greys and empty days
Wear down and down the tired bays
Near the shore the constant waves
Cry and coax and shout and rave.

But they are saying naught at all
A maniac and siren's call
The dead, the damned nonsensical
But yet my feet still here fall

©2004 All Rights Reserved MJ Jackson
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