# Lord knows it would be the first time



## Rozanne (Feb 24, 2006)

I climb onto my bunk, 
Listening to the sounds of guitars
Withering away in the distance
To the sound of the waves
The creeping voices caressing
The salt air in unison,
And my bed creaks
A board of discomfort
That greets my vertebrae with a realisation
Of my pain:
I am alone

Seems summer brought distant chimes nearer
Towards the stolen tomorrow of yesteryear
Something that used to make sense
When one was wandering over the grassy carpet of the hill of Breamo
The old disused monastry
Shaded look-out
Brewery
Fine shadow of yesterday's beautiful isle of meditation
A chant spun me round over the valley
As I dreampt of falling from the height of the ruin
Inhaled into the trees
Like a lily dissolved into the earth's muck
Indulgence in mortality.

Sunmer's wisps of air spun me around over the bridge
Considering the place of my mind
Interacting with the wishes of my birth body
Modelled on a distant memory
Decrepid not, but sensless and missing
Wish-washy wallowing over the occasional olive 
Or two; life a distant dream, not to mention love. 
Just a corpse wishing to be rescued
Rescusitated in the arms of a good samaritan.


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