poetry & things


Waterfall, the swell of rains will come

fierce a wind that takes our breath and then is gone

the mad sailing, that leaves us to the wild seas

borne of oceans, ripped away, lost to vacant longings

we wait the temperamental moons of coming, going

always seeking for other shores, anchors

to hold our souls, unchained, reclaimed

in foreign lands, hearts to mend

and still another storm

will come

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