Alone I watch the seven seas,
awash with tears of brine.
The restless sands are refugees,
the Moon has lost its shine.
I hear the wind sigh through the trees,
an empty, lonesome whine.
I long to feel a gentle breeze,
of breath so soft, benign.
I feel a deep, profound unease;
a future in decline.
I search for hope, perhaps reprise.
I seek the merest sign.
This awful truth is hard to seize,
our lives can not entwine.
No more to touch, nor squeeze, nor stroke,
nor hold your hand in mine.
Fir Lisa's 'The Moon and Back' Competition. 22nd April 2013.