I stand by the wharves knowing that the waves will come. I know I am too close. I know the tides will be overpowering. The inevitability that I will be crushed is as obvious as the sky being blue. I continue to stand by the wharves. The hope that engulfs me is stronger than any fear that threatens to prevent me from watching the sunrise.
The sun is about to escape the entrapment of the ocean when the first molecule of water touches my lips. I stare towards a glimmer of burnt honey, which sends a hue that illuminates from the sea and intoxicates my senses.
It's the last thing I see before the perpetuating waters come crashing.
I suffocate.
YOU ARE READING
When Memory Speaks
PoesiaThis is the first work I am submitting - I hope you enjoy it (it is no way near complete and still requires a lot of work). For now it's jumbled and it's as the title says... When Memory Speaks. Snippets from a rendered life that are never continuou...
