Below me the mighty, the angry,
the white capped waves of the sea,
hammer repeatedly, thrusting deeply
into the unprotected softness of the shore.
The wind tears at me, whipping at my frailty
and far below me the waves crest,
rub away the softness of the sand,
with savage, heaving, white tipped breasts.
Why do I stay here, why do I wait here?
What demented thoughts,
what tormented thoughts
keep me staring in to this maelstrom,
hungering for the waiting, naked abyss?
The storm within rages
greater than the storm without.
Far below me the waves strip away
the innocent lands fertility,
right down to the hard rock bones.
And yet above the thunder,
above the mighty crashing,
the wild thrashing,
I hear the sea call out to me.
It sings gently to me its siren’s song.
I give into the enchantment
and the peace it promises to bring.
Slowly then more rapidly
I approach the precipice and now contented
I gaze deep in to the salt encrusted foam.
Like the prodigal child, who was always wild,
who was lost and lonely, I welcome going home.