Note Poem by Rich Harney

A note was all it was, torn and tattered
by the sea wind,
ages and ages were watching
what a boy would do
with a faint of blood between the lines
and the waves denied
their phantom treasure.
The moss alone had answers,
the sea logs and the sand
were incorruptible
with their quiet
grey.

As boys would, and grown — ups do
(occasion)
wandered the sea
where whales do
up
and
down
Ivory coasts
and at their feet where feet do most,
and moored in foreign shoals.

Too, in minds there's always a lass, a lad,
(or just swords and gruel)
In a splotch of time where
can't help its observe
(none can)
gulls try to eat,

there beckoning in the blood lines,
"I'm left here on this shattered boat"
"Help"