Sitting upon the rock laiden shore
does the wind walk upon this withered soul
across the sinues and across the valleys
of each wrinkle upon this brow -
and furled like a weathered sail
- faded as the distant dream
does an ancient distant scream
come echoing from below -

Dancing seagulls menace me
for all the malice that they see -
the ruptured soul which contained
the very essence which was sane -
came crashing forth like distant waves
to flood the countless hidden caves -
and fill more questions never told
and tax this weathered weary soul -