You Cannot Drink The Sea (English sonnet)

by Ben Pickard

When love has flapped its final flight for me,
I'll tell all those who care the sorry facts:
You are not hurt in turn or by degrees
But with a swift and brutal sort of act.
Where once she stood, her bones lie metres down,
And I am left to kiss the dirt above;
Where laughter lived, there now is not a sound,
Just rotting flesh and echoes of our love.
I hope that heaven has some bells to toll
And that its gates are golden like they say.
I hope that once we're there we have control
And debts that blight our lives are duly paid.
I left the shore to navigate the sea
But now I drown in salt and misery.

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