by the seaside, aside looking over the side of a lonely sight
by the seaside, beside me casting aside my periodic fright
i miss the seaside,
my presence is not there.
my absence is occupied by you.
but my side is not your side.
we see the same night, but on separate sides, to each our own plights.

as i decide to make less sense
a gentle wind blows my words to a generic pretense
a pretense inherent in all words in the endeavour to make sense
but the only sense I get from this, is that my words are always in past tense.

I missed the seaside.
my presence was not there.
my absence was vacated by you.
and remained an absence.

when the waves will beat against the jaded beach walls,
when will they rebuild the old breakwaters?
break my resolve, and break my flow, broke my resolve and broke my flow, will break my resolve and will break my flow, break and broke and will break.

the walls will always be there. old or new. past or future, as a platform for us to scream aloud our plights, as ones with a temporary loss of sight, astonished at our breaking might, to break the silence of the night, and welcome the morning light, by the lonely seaside, where we (will) occupy our own side.

an endless flow of time and concatenated links. words in the mind have no end. because they repeat.
by the seaside, aside looking over the side of a lonely sight
by the seaside, beside me casting aside my periodic fright
i miss the seaside. without you by my side.
repetition is not mimicry.


by A.