15mei14 053

The beach is more a desert now,
the sea has run away somehow;
to drown myself the waters lack
in empathy, they won’t allow.

If I wait long, the sea comes back,
(if not belated by some wreck),
whom can I trust to help me go?
My footsteps are a desperate track.

The table of the tides I know
by heart but sea deceits me so,
there’s only sand and shells to see.
I shall not feel defeated though.

Six hours I shall wait and be
the patient suicidal me
and then the water does the deed
and I am swept off both my feet.

This poem is not about me personally, as I have no intentions to do myself in, but when I saw the beach looking deserted, I could very well imagine how it would feel. The rhythm was inspired by the poem “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost.

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Comments on: "Waiting for the tide to kill me" (8)

  1. Ooh a little dpressing! But brilliantly written! And I love that poem by Robert Frost. L&H xx

  2. Always resist the temptation to explain a poem. 🙂

  3. It’s a Rubaiyat….congratulations!

  4. David said:

    You know, Ina, living beside the desert as I do, that first stanza and pic certainly do capture the emptiness of one. And I think the emptiness is what this is about.

    • Hi David, it must be familiar to you then, the emptyness of the desert, the agorafobic impact it has. I went back this morning, miles of sand just for me, no one else there. In my densely populated country, that is rather unique 🙂

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