The wave, unaware of the broken oar
pushes hard on mismatched wood,
it supports and crashes,
from cradle to death,
a grip on the chest
and the breath of salt,
bursting wave
and drags and attacks
and while you await its final blow
it turns quickly as if hearing a call
and remembers oceans that know how to love
and calms the race and lays you on the shore
to plow the sandy land that meets
the lights of a rainy sky
and you look back while
it retracts its long arms,
swallows the light foam,
and sparkles in a silver sea.
______
Thank you for reading! I wish to know your opinion about it!
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About the Creator
ema
I invent stories, sometimes they need to be written.
Carpe Diem Tempus Fugit.
Doing it for the troops
The others dropped like flies around me. We fought and struggled to get to this point. I'm the only one left now. The objective is right there. A mere two hundred feet away. The last of my team got a bullet to the head right next to me, but I couldn't do anything. I was able to locate and neutralise the sniper as he shot my friend, so his death was at least not in vain.
By Mohammed Darasi6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
Very well done gives me Hemingway vibes and he’s one of my favorites!
Gosh this was so beautifully written! Loved your poem so much!
You clearly have experienced the mighty push and pull of the sea. Beautiful and evocative poetry, Ema!