Poem: Waiting For


Waiting For

On the beaches at Chatham, a few ruins remain.
Defiant and oddly beautiful,
never built for this, but neglected to the point of no return.
A few more seasons, and they will be flotsam,
driftwood for campfires,

frightfully human in their strength and decline,
made for the survival of storms,
turning grey with age, weak with abandonment,
we stand, waiting for someone to care
enough to save us before the next storm.

About this poem

Abandonment is a terrible thing. Neglect is a terrible thing. Love, the real thing, is a restorative. The difference between life and mere survival.

The picture was taken at Chatham, on Cape Cod, MA.


One comment

  1. Feeling abandonmed is terrible, I was weak last year, so, I stopped to prepare food, I ate fruits and became weaker, I had noone to help me, the feeling is the worst in the world. I couldn´d think well, it took months for me to recover.

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