27 december 2011

poetry

Joseph Hankinson
Joseph Hankinson

Demons

Every last sound, 
Resonating as if a shout: 
I lay impaired, trapped 
Within my own dying mind.

For when the waves
Bring down their punishment
And their poisoned justice, 
My tired eyes begin to see
What once was lost: 

The last post sounds, and
The tide ebbs away, 
Leaving sand so raw
It’s startling.

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