End of the pier I remember when your voice was young The times we mulled over half-truths, howled at a drunken moon We were great friends then, needing each other To play at madness, sit under the Judas tree Holding God to account, the universe to disorder Nothing was beyond our vanity, everything in reach As we walked in the days of our youth Stride for stride on Brighton beach I remember when your voice became deeper Attuned more to the grey grit of existence, than the starlit sacred No more eager gush of ideas, conversation now a slow, steady drip For you had outgrown my religion and I your lack of it Sill, we laughed along the promenade, but now a little out of step You the busy doer, me the artist pure, but to his own, each As we took somewhat different paths In our middle years on Brighton beach I remember when your voice suddenly sounded old Trotting out family lines, work’s fine, no youthful spine I was now alone to burn in hell, or dance on heaven’s peak But just as I felt the weight of our friendship whither to something small I realised our journey was more than a climb up a cold mountain For what else is there to learn of life, or teach? Than the warmth of togetherness, the tearing and the sharing So, as we come to the end of the pier, I’m glad we made it here Returning friends from distant places, home to Brighton beach
From the UK, Mark Niedzwiedz is a professional musician, composer and lyricist. So far, Mark’s poems have appeared, or scheduled to appear, in poetry journals such as Grey Sparrow, Oddville Press, Scritura, Wink, Rat’s Arse review, Sac, Literary Heist, Harbinger Asylum, SHiFT, Blaze, The Big Windows Review. The Literary Nest and elsewhere.
Grand Little Things 