Flow-through me, as I beg and I plead.
The voices on the waves call my name, and She begs for release.
She hears a melody whispering sweet promises,
she reaches out to touch it...
Then the thunder corrupts her mind, body, and soul.
She screams for another to hear her cry, but the oceans wash away her fight.
She feels it swelling in the very being of her existence and she inhales a breath,
though that is the last one that falls from her chest.
Her tired and withered body can no longer hold,
Her weather-beaten fingers are too frail now to grow.
She closes her eyes as the wakeful storm sweeps over her face, for peace has now found her.
The pain has washed away.
YOU ARE READING
Dichotomy
PoetryThe observant is always watching. Humanity is here and thriving, but our world won't be surviving our reign. Alive, but not noticed in living. Here we are. A new life, new words, a new start. Aug. 12th 2019 - June 18th 2021 Vol. 1
