The Ocean Calls Me
My heart yearns not for the mountain-way
With its green of grass and tree;
My heart calls out for the ocean spray
And the sound of the surf-roiling free!
Give me a land with its feet in the sea,
Its low-swelling shoulders nearby;
The voice of the waves is like music to me
And the cry of the gulls is my cry.
Cast me not out on your hot desert sand
Where the salt-tanging airs never rest.
Give me space on an ocean-washed strand
With a flicker of foam on its breast.
When the storm clouds build to a thundering groan
And the wind whips the trees on the shore,
With a rip and a roll and a deep wailing moan
The swell charges in with a roar.
Still, even then, with the needle-sharp spray
Dancing its pain 'cross my face
My soul ventures out and is swept far away
On the crest of a fast ocean race.
Thrilled to the core by the need to be free,
Not bound by this weak mortal form,
It pitches and dives and races the sea
And rides on the wings of the storm.
Lighter than down and stronger than steel
With a knowledge as old as the sea,
That this is the way my soul shall feel,
Perched on the brink of eternity!
Entry for Chantelle Anne Cooke's "Devotion To Ocean" Contest
Won 2nd Place in the contest
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2019
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