Drowned Words: A Collection of Poems - The Roar Between Waves

The Roar Between Waves

Dec 29, 2024

3 Mins Read

The Roar Between Waves

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The pavement is wet, inviting

not foul, but calm, like a thing that knows its place.

Pebbles, discarded and forgotten, scatter across the scene,

and a drained fountain sits like a hollowed-out memory,

its water lost to time,

its sounds roared in the cracks of rusted rails.

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I think back to the days

when my brother would wake me in the deep hours of morning,

dragging me into the darkness to take him to work.

We would leave at four, the world still asleep,

and I wouldn't mind.

I would cook eggs, bacon sizzling in the quiet,

smoke my last cigarette under the ghostly moonlight.

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With sleepy eyes, I'd look up

at a sky that still held the ghosts of stars,

fading as the sun crept in,

and for a moment, I felt like royalty.

I felt like a part of something real.

I felt American.

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One morning, on the pier in San Diego,

I walked slow, each footfall a soft beat against the cracked wood,

a rhythm in the stillness.

The boards were blue,

faded, worn like skin peeled back by years of sun.

They creaked underfoot, a reminder of all that's decayed,

of things holding on to life by a thread.

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I remember the smiles passed my way,

but I never returned them.

There was a little girl with her father,

sitting against the railing, looking out at the ocean.

Her dress, off-white, fragile,

tied with a bow at the waist,

a stark contrast to the world crumbling around us.

They shared their laughter,

something I had lost long ago.

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I didn't know why I was there,

on that beach, on that morning,

but I didn't care.

The air was cold,

and it smelled like salt and loneliness.

My hands gripped the metal railing,

despite the filth and the germs.

I followed the line of it,

dragging my fingertips across the rough,

like a nervous touch.

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There was trash scattered,

little reminders of the forgotten.

Gum, stains, a mess of time passed in pieces.

A manicured chaos,

speaking louder than any words.

The seagulls picked at it like scavengers,

pecking at the remnants of lives that had moved on.

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Boats floated by,

all shades of black and blue,

and I watched them leave their ripples in the water,

lingering just as long as they had to.

Some ships were massive,

others sleek,

but it was the tugboats that caught my eye.

Tiny things, pulling giants from the harbor,

like children playing at being strong.

They made it seem effortless,

but I knew the truth,

they were carrying the weight of something too big to lift.

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And there I was, thinking again,

wondering if I thought too much.

The sun beat down on me,

my throat dry, aching for something

but not sure what.

I sat, restless,

drinking in the world around me,

the saltwater taste lingering on my lips,

the sun scorching my skin.

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I was thirsty,

but the thirst was a part of me now,

like the taste of the beach,

salty and bitter,

both a virtue and a sin.

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I think back to that pier,

to the weight of time and tide,

to the things I left behind,

and wonder if it's all worth the burn.

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The Roar Between Waves

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