by H.L. Dowless
Sitting around hoping to get a job,
I’d rather be writing on my computer
Or trying to catch a frog.
No matter how hard I try,
Nothing really happens,
And I wonder...
I walk around outside,
I stop to tie my shoe.
I don’t know why,
But there’s not much to do.
I look about and even small birds fly,
Yet there is not anything for me
If the story stays true.
Sometimes I feel as though I’m going to die,
‘Cause nothing really happens,
And I wonder...
I gaze around,
I take a deep sigh,
I listen to the spring sounds,
I think I’m going to cry;
But ahead all I can see
Is an empty beach.
The earth is quaking,
The bricks are crumbling,
Deep inside my poor heart is breaking.
Beneath me now I hear a mighty rumbling.
I walk across town to change my point of view,
The old ladies are grumbling
‘Cause the silver rounds be few;
And ahead of me
All that I can see
Is a perfectly empty beach.
I don’t know what I’m going to do,
The rain is falling,
The opportunities are few.
A distant voice on the wind is calling,
I need to find me a place and stick like glue;
But around me everywhere I go,
All that I can see
Is an empty beach.
There’s not a dune to climb,
Nor a man to fight,
Or even a conch shell for me to find.
I swear there’s not a good whore in sight,
Even when out in the middle of the day when there’s brilliant sunshine.
All that I can see
Is this empty beach!
I ventured up the mountain
To slay a ram goat,
I washed in an elegant natural fountain,
I rowed for the day in an old jon boat;
Yet when I gaze around me,
Still all that I can see
Is an empty beach.
What do you think?
How does it make you feel?
Does my pinky stink?
Do you whisper around town
That I’m a heel?
In the end does anything really matter?
Might we get struck by lightning
In the rattle of rolling thunder?
Will it do any good if we shed a tear?
I’ll stop right here...,
And I wonder…
***
The author is a thirty five year veteran writer who loves traveling, engaging in a variety of outdoor activities, and living life on the edge. One of his favorite places to live is on a cruise ship for writers, sailing around the whole wide world. Otherwise he is likely to call port oasis and seaside college towns from Spain and Italy, to Latin America and the USA home
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