Novembers By the Sea

Novembers By The Sea

Fog lines the shore in silver
A gull cries out to its mate
It harkens me back as I crouch in the gloom
beneath this moon
Taking in the scents of the sea
And my memories stake claim
for this man remembers
the haunting pasts of November

Echoes, echoes that last
like the cool winds along the Bay
Sweet salty air plays,
swirling more and more
Calling upon an awesome storm
like so many times before
And the sea rages like weathered pages
from books old in lore
Books that spoke of mighty waves
and ships that stole men to their graves
But also spoke of they that wouldn’t break
but attacked their fate
on those November nights
Frightened of their destiny
but warred ‘til dawn of light
Crying as the sun would rise,
thankful for the sight

Yet books can only tell of the past,
while my thoughts recount on cue these last
Especially ’66, when the fog rolled in...

An ever-thickening mist crept upon the beach,
like a leopard for its prey
... reaching out to claim the lives
of they within the gray
Yes, souls of the living rest assured
For the dead were wed to the veil that poured
across that silent shore
And the wind died a thousand deaths
And calm became the sea
The sun descended as the moon did rise
In skies that ended before my eyes
And the lighthouse I spied while tears I cried
as the un-natural came for me
There was no mistake,
it was my break
My only escape from an un-earthly fate
I was eight at the time,
quite out of my mind
racing towards the light
But fear burdened my flight
while behind me gained an ever-darkening shroud
to claim my very life
A cloud that vowed to take me back
into the depths of hell
I screamed without voice as upon the ground
I found that I had fell
The mist was quick and gathered around
and swept me away without a sound... ...

When I awoke the next day,
I was in shock and worn
alone in the sand,
clothes wet and torn
I noticed just then my arm had been tangled,
dangling in a net laid for use that morn

It saved my life and perhaps my soul
Though I lost my arm and voice that eve
It’s why I write about...
that chilling account
and cold November’s by the sea

As I recall those memories all
the storm begins to twist the winds
And again the flood of thoughts begins
to take me back again
to the Storm of ‘85

But that’s a tale for another time
And another rhyme, my friend

But ‘fore you go, hear me now,
for I can speak only through my pen
Beware the Fog, The Silent Mist
For it will come again

The End

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