My Place to Cry…

Just a pile of rocks,

On an open and empty beach,

To walk to the end, near the sea,

I have to remove my shoes and socks…

A place as a child I did use quite often,

No place better to talk to the ocean,

I must have started to do so around when I was ten,

That rock jetty seeing me in all my depressed emotion,

Telling the ocean of my problems and crying out with all due devotion…

The seagulls there to listen too, to make me smile at their comical antics,

To help me to forget my pain and know that there can be pleasure,

This rock pile extending into the sea, the ocean of the Atlantics,

I do always treat that ocean, and the beach that does welcome with respectful measure…

No one else on this beach so lonely,

I am there of course the one and only,

A place I do find to be mine and mine alone,

I come here when I do find a need to atone…

I feel sorry for that boy of ten,

He had no place to go way back then,

His parents to busy, or he was being a baby,

No friends of that time did understand him or so he thought maybe…

That boy has grown, into a man of fifty,

Forty years gone by, his rock pile still part of his life,

He goes there not as often, wishes though he did,

It brings back both good and bad memories,

From when he was ten, yes just a kid…

        © ed ~ 9/13/04