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The Poetry of Oceanldy |
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The Poetry of Oceanldy |
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© Jonathon Earl Bowswer |
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had become tiny iced razor blades that sliced tender pink goose-bumped skin, I, wearing only her latest gift to me - silk shorts covering my secret, walk toward the water's edge leaving traces of wet red in hollow footprints as toward the dark green, foam covered sea I am drawn; to the sea, whose fury today matches my own alone with the deafening silence of a passionate winter storm I fall, knees cracking through icy sand hands clutching wet wind joustled hair gripping as tightly as do the thick black clouds which threaten to smother and suffocate the earth, and there, naked from the waist up, two figureheads pointing toward the accused horizon distant, gray and invisible though it may be, I stay; prayers woven with pleas as if one final sacrificial act would answer eternal screams of "why?" © Ocean.
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