My Mary Beth

A shroud of dense fog, still
without emotion blankets
the mouth of the fjord.
Twisting awareness into an
 illusion of  a time long past.
  
Battered, wind over wave
 the fjords carven walls etched
deep, like aged old memories
corroded.  cornered,  and
unforgotten.

My Mary Beth, lonely  tortuous memories of a sky,  void of
moisture,  a desiccated landscape without her.
Weeping soaked my countenance
as my  windswept body is dragged,  
to the waters edge.

It is there,  I search  for a single
 tear I had left there.

My eyelids fell as fate  marked
 the dreariest of days  
The day the icy waters of the
 Baltic Sea wrapped  it's frigid
arms around  my sweet Bess
Her soul captured within the
coldest of graves.

Thoughts of her now overflowing
into the space between every eve.
I stand beneath a sky riddled with clouds.
 Strands of gauze producing various shapes of destruction
Their movement reveals the sun
 its brightness an invasion against
my sight forcing a downward look.

Beneath my worn leather boots
 is a stone,  a golden stone.
Brought in by the tide,  from the depths of the mighty Sea.
 Encased within this stone,  of
  amber resin was a tear,
 the tear
 i had left, at the  waters edge.