haunted.

Settled on the docks
Waiting for the ship
Little breeze
And dusk
Telling
Nothing
Of what's to come
Glimmers of hope
Reflections of the water
Some light;
Watch it flicker
What folds into dark
Is so nurtured and rich
Driving the desert
From the sea
Now on vast lands
Of dust and sun
Waiting on the misplaced docks
Watching the seagulls fall
Another dastard display
Of disinterest in conviction
Left the boy numb
Stranded in abandonment
But what wilts of hope
Turns to realization
Of a cut hand
A bleeding protest
Lying far down
Small and undisplayed
A personal vindication
Well-meaning person
Did not give up
Did not die from drought
Did not miss those waters
Murkier as he continued to wait
Like this sand settles
As though it's an infinitive hour glass
But the tides have been seen
This is no mirage
There is still chance in waiting
Even if the return
Is more of the same