Lifeless

Down in the abyss of depression.

Lake Erie wind, like silver
tines piercing neck pores;
the sky gray as ritualistic
funeral gloom.  The sun
peeks briefly, rays more
inclined to encounter
barriers, man-made or
natural.  Somewhere in
a colorless sky a seagull
cries as if to mimic how
I feel.  I am a rinse of 
sorrow, an eddy of
dejection; my
countenance
for tears unfettered,
rivulets of cold silk to
streak unimpeded.
October is here; still,
on this cool sand
I trod barefoot, alone,
as if I am a castaway
from life, as if joy was
commandeered by
summer, and September
watched it die.  The water
recedes as I walk onward,
but only for a time.  Then,
like a rush from currents
unseen, waves wash over
my feet again…I am numb
to any Great Lake cold. 
Rounded stones appear
as once again the waves 
abate.  Yet they provide
no luster—this beach
remains as dull
as death itself.

37 Lines
Writer’s Cramp Winner
10-1-16