Drunk Writings at 3am

south haven

a warm honey breeze dances through the
fields of blueberries
a dirt road in between
songs flowing through my mind like the ocean that crashes into the peer
but this peer, unlike the others,
is made of old wood and worn away with rusty nails holding it together like a tight hug.
soaking in the rays of the bright orange sun
providing a cool shade for the fish below
like an unspoken bond that is laced with love,
she provides a home in exchange for their company.
clouds roll in
smothering the suns light, leaving for the night as the moon makes her appearance.
there is no light on her tonight, her tears ripple from the sky/sense-of-worth-withering-away like the oak's skin on the old peer
avoir de l'espoir ,
whispers in the wind
the tears come to an end as the clouds dissipate into the dark sky
stars illuminate almost every inch that surrounds her.
this feeling is incomprehensible- nonetheless intense
waves like no other, clash against the peers stronger than any storm could try
waves full with purpose, within the moon's control
harsh-yet-comforting reckless kind of control
her purpose is not to always be noticed by others,
she understands.
her work speechlessly beautiful;
a secret only her and the ocean will share.