The Dock

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The Dock

 

As the mist lifted, so his soul began to sink,

youth drowning in it’s wake, a haunting feeling

came over him, what if I were found, beneath

this glassy surface stretching before me,

would anybody care?

 

He felt the terror before him, frightened by it,

but with dreamy thoughts to simply fall asleep

into its arms outstretched like tentacles quick

to wrap around him and give him the final

comfort he was seeking.

 

Death could be felt in that poisonous

moment of doubt and no solace could

it bring him, hence his sad unholy soul

just wants to let itself go, without any

melody or note left to tell of why he

chose to end his tormented life over

top this lake tonight.

 

But as the time drew nearer and

the tempest called to him, thoughts

did enter his mind of worry, who would

care that this scared young lad scarcely

known by few, accept maybe by one fair lass,

who caught his glimpse from across their lane,

he didn’t even know her by name.

 

Let this be a dream, cast it far away,

awaken him from this place, this very

lonely mist covered lake, where lovers

laments are heard and stirred beneath

it’s haunting echoes of long, long ago.

 

Maybe there below the lake this night

a full moon will set the Raven to flight

to pluck him from his watery grave so

far below before his empty chest gurgles

his last breath in this welcoming lake tonight.

Is this a fitting grave, a simple splash into

the night to end the sorrows felt in this broken

lad filled with terror and strife, he does not

love the loneliness, he simply wanted

someone to care, to read between the

lines and find his meanings there, a

simple kind word, but nothing was ever heard.
In early morn his boots were found alone,

and just a ripple and one final bubble was

seen from the dock where he stood in

deep thought alone. A lonely figure sat

on the dock, head bowed between her legs,

gripping tight his boots while weeping for a

boy she barely knew, but for a glance now

and then from across the lane.

She never even asked his name.

 

© Copyright Vincent Moore 2016. All Rights Reserved


Comments

The Dock — 6 Comments

    • Thank you very much Don, always appreciate your visit and left comments at my site. The edge of living and dying is often a sharp sword, leaves us with a decision to make. I’m thankful I’ve not been driven over the edge as yet.

  1. Far too many of us have been faced with decisions, some of us are driven to the edge, yet pull back just in time. The darkness draws us in, the light saves us from it for a spell in time.

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