nothing to wipe from your vacant apathic eyes;
no water to collect, just whimpers for affect
lack of tide to me, no rain no bow no cry;
no shore to line the isle, the ithaca, the eyes.
the stoic in your step stammers at my soul.
the depth of such amazing tears, no cry could ask for more.
carry on the mess of depthlessness and blame me for the chaos if you must.
watch the sand as it hits my shore...
those dreams were made of dust,
collecting in clumps behind closed doors.~