I open my eyes while sitting here, on the dock,
Legs dangling over the edge, the sun shining in my eyes.
It creeps above the misty horizon, reassuring me with its presence,
It is always there, every morning, cyclic, neverending, forever.
I smile and wonder at the word, 'forever'
My eyes have been closed for too long now.
Closed because they cannot see the future.
Or don't want to acknowledge what may become of us.
In the end, what are we? Who are we?
The notebook I hold is empty,
Yet the heart shaped pen is ready to scribble away.
Ready to take down all the postives and negatives
That I hold dear to me, in my heart, and in my head.
I start to write words, but they are the wrong ones,
So different to those that I know I should write.
Yet my feelings are telling me a different story.
A tale of futuristic woe. A tale of -
The tide laps at the bottom of the dock. Another relentless force.
Crashing and clawing and eating away at the edge of time, just like us
Nature will not endure it, nature will not endure us either.
I finally write three words that make sense to me,
But I know not of whether they are true anymore.
Deep down, in my heart, I want them to be. But are they?
I take a very deep breath and let out an everlasting sigh.
A coldness spreads from my lips and settles in the air in front of me.
Adding to the seemless pit of mist that already exists
Between me and the horizon. The sun, burns it away so quickly.
I turn the page and write the negatives. I stop.
Fifty seconds is all it took to write so many words.
I hate myself as I read them back.
Most of the page is about me, some about you.
At least I have been honest and true. The problem is us.
We have grown too powerful, too insular,
Too selfish for our own good, and yes, too bloody minded to care.
I want to care, I really do, but I'm tired.
I feel tired of everything, of doing, of thinking, of life!
I don't know if, at this moment, I even like myself anymore.
Even now there is a twist to this sad tale as the tide recedes,
Showing me that all that is left is residue. Muddy residue.
Is that what love is? Muddy residue mixed with bitter tears?