Grey clouds gather just offshore,
Full of threat and anger.
Leaning on the rusting rails
He sees the clouds no longer.
On the waves, a lone bird floats,
At rest upon the tide,
But the man’s grey eyes no creature spy
Nor anything beside.
Storms have been here over time,
Their scars will always linger,
But the scars the man will rue the most
Run deeper than the river.
Time heals, they say, but they are wrong,
Time only slows the churning.
The hurt is harder to detect
For those who missed the reaping.
His hands don’t feel the creeping cold,
His ears don’t hear the thunder.
And as his steps retrace his path
They beat a bleak reminder.