Imbibing the Cliffs Enthrall
Heart
Pulse throbbing, breathlessly imbibing the cliff’s enthrall. The crashing of momentous waves against the bolder rocks. The passionate heaving of whisking foam and the swollen coolness of seaside air.
Mind
Blown, for I am not a fisherman, nor reside near the cliffs. What is a haven and harbor to many is a far-fetched tale to me, but here I stand as if Liberty over the seascape. I could walk these rocks, forever in my figment, roll the scene over and over again, watch the washing of the rocks.
Soul
The lighthouse sign, missed to one’s detriment. I take the warning sternly, with compassion for souls lost to the rocks. Resplendently wet, inviting adventure, departure into the lapping incisors. A cork bobbing, sinking, subsiding. Out of sight, I see ghosts clearly. Only fools tread onto the wet rocks. I want to be foolish, but it is not a good day to die.
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