Crammond

Sitting by a filthy seaside

As the nights get shorter;

A sign still lingers from years ago

Warning wary swimmers

To stay away –

The water’s toxic, poisoned

By our own piss and shit.

 

Did they forget to take it down,

Or are we really that fucked?

The future looks bleak,

We can’t clean the past;

Yet we hold on to hope,

As if there’s any left.

Looking out towards the ocean,

Watching seagulls swirl and dive;

Wondering if I’m still alive,

As they disappear into rippling fear.

 

Feared of following along

Any longer than I’ve allowed,

Of being swallowed willing,

Into a sea of human waste;

Feared of being proud –

Can’t plaster my name in lights

In the sky;

It’s so full of stars,

So why even try?

 

Here comes the sun

As it lights up our faces,

Lights up the scars

From harmful places

We’ve been or never left.

 

Standing by this somber seaside

As the days get shorter,

Scottish sun shows its face

For all of five minutes

Then dulls;

Hopelessly trying its best

To cut through the clouds.

Perhaps it’s a test though, some miserable jest;

Some maniacal motor controlled by dark magic

Demanding and willing you, be the next floater –

And sad it may be, your life has been tragic;

Just try not to panic, your home now, Atlantic.

 

But give it a week,

A week and you’ll know;

It’s the middle of June

But here comes the snow.

 

There goes the sun

As shadows expand outwards,

Darkens the hope

Of selfish cowards

Who never planned to stay.