A lesurely stroll along the beach to clear my static mind.
My toes on the cool sand.
The grey clouds overhead darkened over the horizon.
The water begged for a hug.
Cool kissed my feet.
Cool kissed my knees.
Cool kissed my hips and chest and shoulders.
Cool swirled around my body..
Then burst.
Tugging on me, curling around my body.
'lets play' the water says.
Further and further.
Sand shrinks.
Sand disappears.
Water grows.
Water and sky.
No land in sight.
The water plays.
I let it.
I am a ragdoll.
Floating.
Not drowning.
Just.
Floating..
Wave after wave.
Suffocating, crushing then weightlessness...
Suffocating, crushing then weightlessness...
Suffocating, crushing then weightlessness...
Waves build as I forget their impact.
Then strike unforgivingly.
As the sun rises to honour the beauty behind these waves.
I float.
This poem describes my grieving style. I'll calm down, almost forget, then the grief hits me out of nowhere.
YOU ARE READING
Death and its Grievers.
Puisisome are sad, others not so much. it's taken me some time to publish these, and more will probably be coming. ∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆ @ 2017. All rights reserved. All content is property of Cassandra Kirone.
