PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

He's been coming there for a while they say,
lookin out over dawn,
like he's waitin for the sun to crest those waves,
Why's he sittin there that way?
his hands holdin up his wrinkled face,
lookin off into the horizon,
I'd seen him there before,
waiting from dusk for dawn,
Sitting on that bench,
clothes tattered and dirty,
starin off with those hollow eyes,
he's a wanderer, I'd say,
movin on from town to town,
never stayin in one place,
but he always comes back to that seat by the bay,
so why's he 'ere,
every mornin just starin at the sun,
as it's risin out over the bay?
Maybe he see's his heart in all those breakin waves,
or maybe he's watchin those dawn burned clouds,
lookin for an old lovers face,
or maybe,
just maybe he's somewhere else,
even though he's sittin on that bench today,
maybe he got lost some other day
and he's tryin to use the stars like a sailor would,
to find his way,
back to that bench beside the bay...