Staring at the Sea

I stopped long ago,
the hurt, my hurt,
the tear in my soul,
in salted dewdrops, mortal coil.
I am rushing though daylight,
my nights are foiled.

It’s simple,
not that simple
yet it always has been.
I take a walk,
while talking back,
taken aback,
straight into the wall again.

Is falling, just falling?
I ask myself — post impact.
Can’t feel my toes,
the cringe it grows,
no longer intact
and I just lost the will to sing….

To sing…
when was it lost,
my time to sing,
just sing..

It’s heavy
and I carry it well,
baggage and burden
wrapped up in a shell,
but then again
I’m not complaining,
not me,
how can I be upset
as I am staring at the sea

and I cant be mad
at the loves you’ve had
cause they all did me a favor —
while wasting away
in the brine-ridden bay
reminding of what to savor

© Dean G. Propst 2026