Benjamin Posted May 29, 2016 Share Posted May 29, 2016 The swell hid friends as I swam: unaware Of tidal drift or serpent undertow. And lost: turned to the sun, struck out once more; Tried to ignore the endless dark below. Through tiredness, sensed shingle, roll and hiss With: "Will he, won't he?" Whispers of the mind. That I'd be lost on cruel rocks, whose slime From ageless tides, would keep me in my place. Till, buoyed purely by air in tortured lungs; I felt the welcome texture of warm sand. And gravity, give weight once more to limbs Anxious to leave the grasping surf behind. Smelt seaweed drying in the morning sun; And heard kind words from folk I'd never known. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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