the churning sea
pardons you of your sins
every moment of rage
undercurrents of doubt
the deep dark takes it
collecting a pool of wrath
mercilessly damning us
to seek out icy relief
one day leaving all
frozen in her wake
salt left burning tounges
and sand scratching skin
Sea, February 24th 2016
YOU ARE READING
PROSE
Poetrythe pen may be mightier than the sword, but that sword certainly thirsts for more blood (if you like me, vote me if you love me, show me)
