We write our names and watch them stray,
drawn and sad and pulled away.
They blur before we turn our heads
like secrets whispered left for dead.
The sea has no memory for pride.
It smooths the edge where we reside.
We wrote our truth along the shore
but couldn't hold the tides uproar.
Our names were strong but couldn't stay.
We write them still and watch them stray.
Even presence fades
in time.
They
vanish with each foam and sway.
No voice to beg, no plea to pray.
We write our names and watch them stray.
Another wave,
another gray.
