Shimmering sea sweeps steadfast shore,
Soft strokes, seductive susurration.
Seagull soars, searching skies.
Serendipitous swoop, snatches supper.
Somnolent shadows stretch stealthily.
Some suffering silhouette stands,
Seeking sanctuary, solitude.
Sunken shoulders, shattered spirit.
Suicidal.
Shoes, slacks, shirt stacked simply.
Seagull summits stygian skies.
Sea swells, swirling, surging surf.
Seaweed snares, submerged, sinking.
Surrendered soul silenced.
Such selfish sojourn.
Solemn scene.
Sacrilegious stars sparkle, shine.
somber skies spilling secrets.
Slowly, Sea-foam smooths silvery sand.
Soon sun shall shine, sharing solace.
Seagull still soars,
Seeking sweeter stories.
,
About the Creator
Angel Whelan
Angel Whelan writes the kind of stories that once had her checking her closet each night, afraid to switch off the light.
Finalist in the Vocal Plus and Return of The Night Owl challenges.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
On-point and relevant
Writing reflected the title & theme
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Expert insights and opinions
Arguments were carefully researched and presented
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
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More stories from Angel Whelan and writers in Poets and other communities.
Sincerity: A Rare Treasure in this real world
When you truly ponder this, you’ll realize that there are only a few individuals, perhaps just a handful of them. The ones who are genuinely good to you might not use fancy words; their gift is silent companionship.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharinga day ago in Poets
Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (7)
Loved this Amazing Outstanding
Stunning, sad, sorrowful ♥️♥️♥️
A tragic story, told with the skill of a true wordsmith. Well done!
Beautifully done.
Beautifully done Angel. The "s" is a perfect sound for the theme and tone of this piece. Clever and thoroughly soulful. ❤
Fabulous!! Love this💖💕
Beautifully done, a triumphant return to Vocal to be sure! You carry the solemn tone throughout with the cadence and punctuation of each line…I especially loved this visual: Shoes, slacks, shirt stacked simply. Glad to see your stories again :)