Before I was born,
I stood on the other side of the ocean,
And I tried to get your attention.
I waved my arms frantically,
I even threw a rock in your direction.
You did not notice the ripples.
You were by the dock at Mola,
your beautiful hazel eyes,
melancholy with indecision.
The bells of the ancient Chiesa Matrice,
were silenced by your thoughts.
A hungry seagull soared overhead, turning,
LOOPING, arching downwards,
and landing, next to your feet,
gobbling a discarded fisherman's bait.
And it was at THAT moment,
that you knew.
And your hunger set compass for a distant land.
A better life.
IT HURTS ME TO KNOW
SOMETHING OF YOU.
THE concrete things-
Work, sweat, ache,
AND obligations,
that hid the
jokester, the singer, the artist.
The carefree you.
You never had the chance to find your true you.
And you may die unfulfilled.
By Michael