Alone he lay there, on the cold and lonely sand,
Contemplating the mistakes that made him feel a lesser man.
Better to have loved and lost they say, fools say I! for I am haunted by the happy thoughts of this rotten mind’s eye.
The grit against his cold skin felt right, mimicking his pain of heart, on this cold, cold, night.
There were no warming thoughts, no comfort to be gained, for with every painful memory his grip on life waned.
In the dark he stared, across the inky sea, will you send your mighty waves to rescue me?
Take me to your quiet depths, yes, pull me from the sand, and grant a little peace to this lesser man.
Poetry
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