24d • Poetry
The Dead Poetry
There he was again, as he had promised. Dark reigns over the sky and the crescent’s curl is hidden by the clouds. The sea is awake. For she, as if already knew that he was coming. Her heart hurts and with fear her waves grow larger and larger. She trembles and tenses. The air seems to suffocate her. The man comes. She waited a long while for him to come. He doesn’t sob, for his eyes have been tired and his sight weakened. He tells the sea, his story. Tonight the sea intently listens to his rant and picks a pen and writes on her skin to tell the tale. She cries at his misfortune and wails at his doom. The man stands and comes near the sea, the sea fears what he is about to do and what she has to see. It tries to take its waves back but is not able to do so. The man slowly steps into the waves and moves closer and closer. She tries to push him, but he is firm. At last she screams but the work is done. She submerges the crime, rather a sin, hiding it underneath. For him is laid a bed of beads. His body rests on his tears; the pearls. The sea weeps and cries. The moon shines on his face, as his body hugs the ground. It’s midnight and she tries to sleep and not weep any longer. But how can she sleep when she knows that inside her resides he, to always remind her of the dead poetry.
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The Dead Poetry
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