scrap #6

The Wreck of Tragedy

My dear mossy friends,

In English we say: I am grieving.

In Poetry we say: The oceans hold the magnitude of my sorrows for missing you. And with the tides, they ebb and flow. The only constant a knowing, that of the two of us, only I remain. I stand always on the beach, sinking into sand. Sitting amongst the broken boards of a sunken ship, called The Wreck of Tragedy. And again I refill the sea, pouring out the painful parts of me. The tide comes in again, cold water lapping at warm feet.

Sincerely yours,

Bella C. Reynolds