“The Immigrant Void” by Bruno Catalano

Port of Call …

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

with the breath of the ocean

a caressing balm,

soothing pained memories away,

to the swaying of a solitary palm.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

feeling the brushing away of past turmoil,

on a quest for solace ever so hard to find,

yet comforted by the crashing of the waves,

as the tide washes away pain,

leaving despair far, far behind.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

drenched in a sea-breeze of mist,

shushing aches of bygone moons,

tasting the salty tang on my lips,

as the burnished sun,

over the distant horizon,

swoons,

and dips.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

searching, ever searching,

for a slice of solitude,

as memory bids adieu,

reaching under the sea so vast,

and seeking comfort in the depths,

while embracing

tomorrows to come,

wishing that they be true.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

seeing my truths drown,

as they slip beneath turquoise waters,

feeling my heart ablaze,

with a passion that barely falters.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

knowing that I am home at last,

wishing the waves would wash away,

the defences that once stood

like an impregnable wall.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

I have found,

at long last,

my own port of call.

“The Immigrant Void” by Bruno Catalano