#986073 added June 29, 2020 at 11:48am Restrictions: None
Of Your Shores
When the dark tide turns --
tumult from the deep disturbed
Black spoil surfaces
where the moon
intensely casts luminosity,
scans these lonely beaches
-- amid --
tossed driftwood, weed entangled
combers scour, overlook
agates like me --
pearls begging capture
on your stroll
but, I'm a rough gem
soon clutched by a child,
feebly hurled
toward a pale sky --
cast into the rolling,
deep blue, swallowed
another century or two of
drowning, yearning
lunar might
magnetically,
howeverly, expel me
during some dark purge --
a former truant
of your shores.
6.20.20
6.29.20 edit
Brian, why so many dashes?
and the introduction of 'howeverly'. set to learn.
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