The Lark
Published in

The Lark

Winter Beach


You both died, my son, my brother,
And I was broken for many, many years.
I can no longer hide this from myself,
Behind this screen of anonymity:
I have stood in empty spaces,
Walked along the winter beach
Stripped of everything except wind and sand and sea.
And me, I have looked into the summer sky for your blue-blue eye;
And all, all I see, repeatedly, are grey-clouds a-skimming ~
blank looks.
If you could only see into my…



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John E Marks

I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can