I moseyed onto the desolate sands of the gloomy,
grey water fronts, just pondering the meanings of life itself,
The icy winds were whipping all through the sky,
tearing limb from limb of the misty front,
making a mockery of a nice day.
The gulls were prancing and flocking like popcorn in a kettle,
never lying still,
always searching for the most eluding part of the tan cushion that runs between your fingers.
The most that meets the eye in this lonely haven is the eye soar that comers and goers leave behind
A wasteland for those who are incapable of caring, as if the whole world were at their feet
Nobody stays for long,
and my time must have been up,
because I was yanked back to reality as I retreated from the place that keeps Daisy waiting,
and Gatsby longing
My own little slice of heaven once again engulfed me in and let me stay for a while.