The port was somewhere ahead of them
Distance kept moving its position
The Hopeless looked back towards hills
Observing trees running rebelliously into rain
Water ran down their faces
Shoes filled with brackish
Someone laughed and nobody spoke
A gull followed, a floor board croaked
They passed houses with yellow wooden panels
Families eating comfortably behind curtains
Warmth was as foreign as they were
The hopeless and unwelcome
At port, ferry lights flinched and flashed offshore
Engines running somewhere in darkness above waves
They stood together without speaking to stay warm
Trying to remember where they were supposed to arrive
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário