Leaving

The tide is coming.

Rheumy eyes lost on the horizon. Misting, over half memories.

Vera Lynn keeping us firmly in the past. Time in the present ever shorter.

Flask piping hot, burnt lips. Lunch heartily eaten.

Talk of family long-gone and family non-existent. Half finished sentences.

Singing until hoarse, oblivious of time and place.

Home before dusk or enter a world of anxiety and confusion.

The tide is gone.

I shall miss Sundays.

beachmotherfamilyfamilytimefree verse

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Bianca Jones

December 30, 2012 at 3:38 PM

It makes me nostalgic and sentimental. I like the structure, though I admittedly don't know that much or care to know that much about such literary forms, it's more important to contact with a sentiment, to give it purpose and to thoroughly express it in a way that connects to others, and for me your poem did.