The Watcher in The Writer

  • July 8, 2014, 4:29 p.m.
  • |
  • Public

I stood at the shoreline
and watched you dip over the horizon.


And then stayed like a mother keeping bedside vigil.
Starched with fear, upholstered upright.

Becoming less like a person,
and more like a lighthouse.
A beacon to guide you home
or silently watch you drown.

The prisoner with outstretched fingers,
a pale light fading in dark waters.

Removed from the trauma finally occurring,
Grief turns everything to stone and salt.

Last updated February 26, 2015

Deleted user July 08, 2014

I love poems and I liked this it draws you in...I liked the last line very much...RN.......E

Hillbilly Princess July 08, 2014

...sarah July 08, 2014

Avalon July 08, 2014

Jeanine July 09, 2014

alina July 15, 2014

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