Poetry

Row On

Whilst lovers sail on shallow creeks,

Deep regret flows within.

A whirling stream of rapid hope;

But we row on, on, on…

On torrential turns, they sway,

Away, I swim to stranger depths;

My breath is taken by the nerve,

Of a life that I deserve to take

Not the row that ushers

Drop by drop,

A beading droplet

Not forgotten

But begotten with a tide that cares not,

For reason, rhythm, wrestling waves;

It touches banks unknown.

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