Photo by Zoltan Tasi on Unsplash
Moon angrily chased her into sea
the Tide rushed away once again
before stilling completely
when he took all of her
there was nothing left
but quiet ends
still oceans
dead fish
Grief
___
This poem is an entry to Vocal's nonet challenge:
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About the Creator
R.C. Taylor
I write to invoke, to process, to honor, to resurrect, and—sometimes—to grieve but, above all, I write to be free.
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