Beach Poem by Cris Ben

Beach

Rating: 5.0


Sylphian breeze toying my hair,
never-ending canticles of folks or
perhaps mermaiden hymns
some warmth and some lamenting
I stand solitary, soul dreamy
akin to a desolate island yearning to be found,
akin to rolling waves' hunger for the shore
sands of time will devour me soon enough,
the wind of oblivion will too have its share,
and the billows of death will mercilessly ebb
my footsteps away
down the abysmal depth of the underworld

Thursday, October 3, 2013
Topic(s) of this poem: deaths
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