The Sea Olf the Forgotten

The sea of the forgotten When I sit on the terrace and the world is silent. I can hear the ohm of the restless sea filling me with sadness. It is melancholy the things I left undone and what I did, unwise as I was. Today, after many days of rain and fog, the sun shines. I look at the sea it is post-card idyllic, but I know it’s might. Relentless it crashes on sharp cliffs and wears them round and of no hindrance. In this time of the pandemic, I cannot drive down to the shore and secretly hope a big surge will reach up and take me home. I spent years on a leaf reading the sky and sleeping softly in its embrace, yet was aware of its sudden rages. It is all in the past which remembered it as sweeter than the now.