* The Pier *

He sits alone on a sun bleached, weathered bench,
staring at the sea as it rises and falls,
feeling the gentle sway of the timbers
in the relentless waves.
Deep wrinkles crease his face,
gnarled fingers rest on the rail.
The sea-breeze ruffles the grey tufts around his ears.

The gulls and a clumsy brown pelican
are his only companions
as another day slowly slips away.
He thinks of her, lost so many years ago,
the memory tangled in time.
His ancient face betrays his haunted mind
as a tear tracks through the wrinkles
and drops silently onto his chest.

Alone on his bench, he knows his long life
has been but a pyrrhic victory over death.