Fishermen

Sitting by the shore at low tide
The morning breezing me just fine
I am packing up hope in a bag
While the fishermen are waving from the sea
Dropping boxes and boxes of old memories
No one will know who they are leaving behind
Is it Margot or Isobel?
Catching moons forever and watch them disappear
Under piles and piles of weary thoughts and secret beliefs
Over the stormy ocean no falling stars to wish on
Only the sound of the sea
Drifters,
I’m losing the sound
High tide is back bringing sunken treasure
With a full bag, I wonder where to bury these words
To make me forget they dont belong here
I’m losing the sight of the sea
Drifter
I’m losing the sight