I only want to stand silent at a welcoming shore,
while salt spray stings my eyes and the unmasked sun
bleaches beach grass to paper and my retinas, blind.
Will Sol burn through them to truth? The only real
things to me now are those intuitively felt. Deceit
is a buried crab hidden by the moon and I too make like
a hermit, retreat to pen and page for comfort, as I am
worn smooth as beach glass from the red tides.
L. G. Figgins (c) 2022 All Rights Reserved
Poetry I can really relate to…
A sea and beach setting and
I’m hooked…
Your last line is blissful!
Diana…🍃
and much insight. Bravo!
I liked it!
Ron