Facing the Hurt
To ride the sea is a pleasure and a curse
as huddle of gulls, starfish dart from nowhere
enchanting frolic on breakers, they traverse
into buoyant laps with crystal tides so rare.
My arms swivel a distance while I immerse
from deep lures of an islet, beyond compare;
yet once, twice... roughest torrents did choke my lungs
engulfed by coils of a dunk, into waves’ tongues.
I awake on swamps of moss , hurt like trapped cord
from a hillside , birds echo their fiercest drawl;
reviving my anxious glides with crests adored
for the terror -thrill of waters makes me stall.
As the bashing of rapids drills more pain on board
this dread, dread of drowning snuffs a night-breaths' pall...
though I cringe, hurt again from a sail, outright,
I’d rather face danger to unleash my fright.
If it hurts so bad, why do we do it?
Contest of Silent One
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[11 syl lines per requirement of the form;
10 syls likewise acceptable]
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6/19/2016
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