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The Fall

by Lucero Chavez Rivera 2 years ago in surreal poetry
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She whispers prayers, so close she can see the sunrise, so close will the night end.

Cliff Walk at Pourville (1882) by Claude Monet

Walking into a storm.

The waves crashing against the sharpened rocks and the skies, bleak.

As if Icarus himself was crashing just as she.

She looks up at the sky with eyes shut and teeth bare, the waves, a comforting distraction to the sound of the air whistling against her ear.

She's waiting. And she'll wait longer.

With hair as dark as the ink from her writings and eyes like lightened rum.

She whispers prayers, so close she can see the sunrise, so close will the night end.

She'll awaken with the sun, where the skies are not bleak and her skin is not soft nor will her limbs be weak.

To lay next to her, to get close enough, even the bones would do.

She'll see the sunrise as she falls.

surreal poetry

About the author

Lucero Chavez Rivera

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