Bitter morning,
Grey wind beating
Greyed sails,
Sharp wind
Beating the faces of grey men.
Dull water dully pounding
The grey planking.
The sea sounds hollow.
With the piercing cry of the gull,
The seagull's shriek.
With the shouts of hard men
The groans of tired men, the grumblings
Of the tired ship,
With the lonesome whistling
Of a lonesome seaman's air
The cargo is unloaded.
And this was all they brought,
Imported griefs and brittle bones.
A vacant old world face.
I've never felt so empty,
To be left alone in such a hollow morning.
I'm sorry to go through this all again but if you'd been there,
At the dock. I stood
Spellbound.
I'd never seen such desperation,
Except in your eyes.
I don't think I can tell you what I really mean.
But alone here in a hollow morning
I became aware.
And here in the bay, Here
In the mouth of the bay
Where the glacial sea bares
Its icy teeth upon the banks,
I would have told you.
I see you always, near water
I see myself always
Clinging
To rocks awash with sea foam
Looking
For a look in your eyes.
Now such hollow eyes.
And that was all they left
Imported griefs and a brittle life.
I've never felt so empty.
Left alone in this hollow morning,
I've never felt so empty.
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nedful thingsThere are things that we need and things that are Ned. Nedfulthings: a collection of labyrinthine conversations and a fistful of dreams...WidgetBucks - Trend Watch - WidgetBucks.com
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The Poet is like an onion - because when you cut him, he makes you cry.
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