Poem: Where The Cold Wind Blows

The old bearded man you might know

He journeys to where the cold wind blows. 

To the infamous dock with his fishing pole

Trying to catch what’s left to feel whole.  

But you know his rod is empty of line

Never casting but sitting back to unwind.

All the past regrets of family summer fun

Working and working, saying “no” to his sons.

Now the man is ever busier than before

Paying homage daily to settle the score.

Hoping for restitution from this sacred place

That he so wished at one time to embrace.

Chad A. Damitz

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