THE INTROSPECTION CHRONICLES 8 | DEBRIS (SIDE B)

Go back so you can come forward.
Pick apart the skein of this cloth,
let us see the secrets behind your teeth.
Look at it and watch your nails bleed.
The sea brings truth with each tide
like drift wood from a broken yacht.
The shore takes the blue out of the sky
and in the darkness, we are all the same; debris

In the darkness, we are all flesh and bones;
sweat, tears and throbbing blood. We are
salt chewed canvass shoes from Africa,
salt chewed pink ribbon from Asia,
salt chewed prayer beads from the Middle East,
salted skins marinating at the bottom of the deep.
Water brings life to us by the shore.
The sea brings memories of places; debris,
the taste of salmon fried just right.

The lights of clubs in foreign nights
like sirens calling migrating birds to dock,
Paper boats sailing in the rough and tumbled sea,
bleeding little lives like ink into shady waters.
The moon tugs us all on a shoe string
and there, right on the edge of beautiful,
There are stars in the sea and on the shore like debris.
The sea stars waver and wink
and the shore stars wrinkle and wait for the tide,

For memory to forget,
for beach bums to pick the stories,
for bloated bodies to sink,
and then, like the sun before night falls,
they would return to the sea, drifting
on the same journey to another place,
on the same mission to tell another tale
in a bottle, in a locket, in a sanded wooden box; debris.

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_{Pixabay: Croisy}

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POSTSCRIPT: This is the second part. I hope it gives the poem a more complete look or not? I almost started extending it again but i thought better of it this time. Enjoy.

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warpedpoetic, 2019