Here’s a poem I wrote at a particularly dark time in my life. It’s about hopes and dreams failing. I’m a pretty terrible poet, but it is what it is.
Dying swans lay strewn across the shore
Their battered wings, a portent of powerless beauty
Long necks bow in bloodied resignation
No more will they soar
The incoming tide quickens the dread
Constant waves heap mockery on their suffering
Freezing cold, their failing hearts throb wildly
A thrusting watery bed
Let us go down to see them together
How can we not heed pity’s silent whispers?
And, party to such a public sorrow
We will brave the cold weather
Footsteps between feathers, shells and rock
Those clinging to life hear us approach now
Our flaccid sympathy avails them not
Caring caresses but mock
A red sunset concludes a red day
All, except one, have relented to cruelty
Time, like the waves, will crash without ceasing
And take their beauty away
spes clara 