By John Metcalfe
He stared beyond his feet.
Saw nothing of the green sea swell.
Or the white spray, like pearls of cuckoo spit.
Just the glistening rocks.
He wondered how much it would hurt.
Flesh and bone
against the stone.
Blood polluting the surf,
green becoming red.
Brown.
But only for a moment
because the tide washes everything clean.
Not everything
A mind contains thoughts
And thoughts cannot be erased.
Like feelings.
Emotions.
You came into the world as something
Yet will leave it as nothing.
Opportunities grasped
So many allowed to slip
through fingers both careless
or unprepared.
Many high hopes
buried in a trough.
Love’s labours never realised
Never mind lost.
Worthless.
That’s the cost.
He stared beyond his feet
Couldn’t see beyond the bleak.
The nondescript
The weak.
Sometimes you know you are beaten
before you begin
That surf, those rocks
Will gather you in.