Suicide By White Horses
Strong white riders saddled atop tempestuous verdant freckles,
roil like flecks of spittle across a horses hard ridden muzzle.
The charging equine manes of the waves thrash the tormented sea livid,
towards the perfect storm
Vicious white caps wait for foolhardy prey to cross their path.
An obliging soul stands upon the quay, eyes anchored upon
the maelstrom.
Breath synchronised,
to the seething ebb and flow of earth's pulsing feud with its moon.
A rush,
to join the dance of scourging testament to roughened waters
brings panicked breathing at the bottom of light-starved troughs.
Where the crashing sounds of retribution meets the ears
and a vengeful smothering of mouth stills the breath.
A pointless struggle where none exists, and the triumphant sea
has its victim.
The victim? A solution
Copyright © Terry Robinson | Year Posted 2016
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