Skegness Beach, Still No Closure
In truth there can be no real excuse
for the actions of the black sheep
But to use that label is too enable
oneself to destroy and yet feel cheated.
There are memories most are dark
the contrast of midnight wailings
and buttercup picking on a Folkstone
hilltop chisel this heart some more.
And as history repeats itself we
watch the speeding train of regret-
unstopable, it mocks us when passing.
In the distance as feet sink into
sand, A father battles the inevitable-
building a sand dam for his delighted
children- this mind is elswhere.
Tiny fingers grip older more fragile
hands. Dear children I wish not to
misdirect you but these words are
written in the blackened blood of a
age old family name.
Follow your heart, keep hold of your
goodness, Love is permanent,
Relationships are not.