it seems the sea
knows all my secrets
every wave
a torn page from my diary
secrets in the sun
sandy and waterlogged
blurry pages with blurry thoughts
high tide carrying them away
to Davy Jones’ locker
ocean of thoughts
few drops of wisdom
waves and waves of nothingness
splashing and crashing
on the rocks
jagged and unforgiving
no lighthouse
only fog and more fog
no one sees the ship
groping in the mist
no one hears
a lonely foghorn crying
