Fragments

Imagine what would happen
if you could change the world
And somehow you could resurrect,
a memory, a girl;
It’s been ten years, yet still, the fears,
they make my stomach curl;
Seventeen into the sea,
no cards to play, she folds;
Empty to me sans she–the world
In the end I lost a friend
It never could recur;
I’d give my pen, I’d give my pad,
I’d give my cash and my left hand,
for one more glimpse of her.

I’ve not forgot that place, that spot,
where we lay on the shore;
we thought that day our lives might play
there was so much in store.
We would have so many days,
a real or more, no less, for sure,
like children we would play.
We’d see each other, be together,
think nothing of before;
Life can change for fate plays games;
Nevermore could I live for;
With oxycontin, woe forgotten,
she passed through the door.
The Sea, her urn, for life, it’s bourne;
Bonne nuit, I said, amore.

To me Diane, she might have been,
just some imaginary friend;
though real enough to me.
I close my eyes yet the sunrise
Takes me back to the Sea.
An image lasts, as does the past,
There is no shade that could be made
for an umbrella made of glass.
In the grass, in shade, we laughed,
and now almost ten years have passed.
But I return, again, to learn;
that life is short, yet pain, will last.
We had one day, one night, no more–
only the dead have seen what could be deemed
the end of all the wars.

Light of my life, all day, all night,
I thought to talk again:
She was more to me than but
a means to an end.
And for me, that same disease,
to opiates and miss Morphine.
That or the gun, that’s how it’s done;
That is the cost for life when lost
when unraveled has begun.
Life is played, by hands, we’re gave;
a gamble to be sure.

And yet we get to place no bet,
and alas we win no cash, at least we pass,
up gold and no silver;
and in the end we all pretend
our image might assure;
And when we’re wrong, if right, if wrong,
we never can be sure;
our agony, our tragedy,
is what we must endure.

To live is but to write your name
in disappearing ink;
but to fade like naked footprints,
on a torrid beach.
And what a cost, to count a lost,
a forgotten face to seek;
We are but chasing yesterday
a day we cannot reach.
We are the footprints but to fall,
the Children of the Sea;
We live, we call, we fade, yet all,
are stranded on the beach.
All that remains, the days, the same–
we live but to seek.
One rash choice I missed her voice,
her thought to relay she seemed to say,
please always think of me.
And we all around it fall,
we Children of the Sea;
We are but fragments, as it happens,
that’s all that we can be.

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