Tag Archives: human nature

All The Boys Are Gone

A young and pretty French girl, in her blue and white swimsuit,

walks upon the beach, her light brown hair a little shaggy,

that shortly ago was a playful pixie cut.

The holiday season is over, but it’s still warm, still bright,

and she imagines she will see mermaids again, out in the waves,

know that all the ignorant eyes are gone.

That all the boys are gone.

Still cigarette butts in the sand, and a soda can half-buried,

people not caring. A million years ago no people existed, to take

and to sully, and to claim as their own.

The mermaids were here though, as they always have been, outside of time,

and a girl’s broken heart, like hers. A mermaid, with dark hair, sparkling tales,

waves to her from the breakers.

She waves, all the boys are gone.

The mermaids are eternal and outside of time, like the hulking black bunkers,

from a war that never ended, just down the coast. Skulls of a demon that burrows

in brains and flesh, always hungry, always finding willing hosts.

She walks into the water, lukewarm and swallowing, and swims out to the mermaid,

her sister and friend, who knew here, when she was free and innocent, and the terror

was in shadows and not in the light.

The mermaid has come for her, all the boys are gone.

Warm and Beautiful

A quiet moment, all too short.
A moment to breathe, rest,
but not be at peace.
Fighting so long, so hard,
and it never fucking ends.
I daren’t close my eyes,
or sleep, or dream.
Just a moment in the war,
where there is quiet.
The war is here, still.
I look at the soft sunlight
shining through a hole.
It’s still warm and beautiful.
But we are still people.
But still there is a war.
To sleep, to dream, to escape.
Just a moment of quiet.
Not a moment of peace.