Wayfaring Sailor

I can feel my youth being pealed away,
Like the pull of low tide–
It ressurges in my mind
But leaves my body and spirit
In coastal decay.

The crisp ocean breeze,
Invigerating in seasons past,
Meets with a bitter irony
Of faded hopes for warmer days.

Sand burning in the eyes,
Incessent, obnoxious gull cries–
I walk alone to the next pier.

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