Bury the Hatchet

Bury the hatchet, Or better yet burn it And scatter the ashes so far across the sea We stand no chance of digging it up. 'Cause I know you, You'll get bored and start looking. At least this way We can only stand on the beach And reminisce in what It used to be.



Grasp at lockets of Headless photographs Pretending it’s the past. Try to remember the waves, The salt air, The seabirds;   Hoist up your memories with fishnets, And gut them so they become something They’re not. So they become A harbour in which we can settle.     In thought or in fact Let’s return… Continue reading Nostalgia