Breakers

The cry of the sea, such a lonely call,
as we walk on these stormy shores.
Soft voices, afar, are heard on the breeze,
weeping, alone, full of watery dreams,
we might hardly dare to recall.

The cry of the sea, such a distant call,
as we walk on our land-locked shores.
But our hearts will fill, with a storm that beats
cloud, heavy with thoughts, through the space between,
to hammer our stony walls down.

The cry of the sea, a passionate call,
as my soul swells the fires of hell
through the frozen void of delinquent heaven,
to shatter, on flames of a love, free given,
and claim it, again, as its own.

The cry of the sea, an intimate call,
of a tide that consumes hard land.
Proud mountains will crumble to cliffs, and fall,
at the ocean’s kiss, that devours them all,
but demands no more than it’s owed.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2024

*Thoughts that emerged watching the spring tide at Porthcawl

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