People and Places

Hastings, the place where battles were fought,
But a few miles along from its shore
Was a small suburbian seaside resort
That isn't there anymore.

In the season of heat it was crowded
As people battled in sun and in sea,
And seagulls flew overhead
In an envious state of free.

No escape from the music of laughter
Nor the rhythmic flow of the waves.
People sat on the beach each year after,
Not knowing they sat on their graves.

The old men walked slowly along
While the children ran gaily ahead.
The old simply smiled and looked back on their youth
When everything worth saying had been said.

Now it's hard to believe it was like that.
The buildings are meek and yet wise.
They saw the years coming and going
But through the visitors eyes.

The pub stands alone in its silence.
Not swamped by an unruly crowd.
The sea is quietly creeping away,
Too ashamed to be loud.

It's empty, the silence is daunting.
Empty houses look hostile and mean.
There are sounds from the church that are haunting
And the waves wash away what has been.

You can return to the towns of your past,
Try to re-capture those people and places
Only to find that all, all are gone,
The old, familiar faces.