With moonlight, I pace… a quiet repose
That gazing far across a wind-tossed sea
Ringlets of tides beckon me, quietly.
Where an opportunity lifts my woes
As I in solace view the edge of bends
Until crests turn strong whirpool to downtrends
To appease my soul torn, a pain that grows.
Yet, the drifting wave rinses like a salve
The roll of tears, breaths…salty mist foregoes;
When my whimper exhales through ripples that heal;
And dissolves into mist on fate of zeal.
This burden released, heart of sea bestows
One final chance where new dewdrops spill,
A good luck rising from ocean's goodwill.
Opportunities Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron