She rushes up the trail
Towards the top of the cliff
The memories of the day
Blast through her mind
She needs her favorite spot
As she so very often does
When her emotions are high
The clear visibility of the horizon
And the glassy look of the ocean
Always calms her racing thoughts
Clearing her head and lifting her spirit
From there she could watch the sunrise
Lighten up the world around her
She could listen to the song of the birds
And she could watch the milky crests
Of the waves crash into the rocks below
It almost drowns out the sigh of her heart
As she tries to process the tragic day
She could hardly believe as it unfolded before her
Inspired by The Sunday Whirl- Wordle 87. It feels good to be writing again, even if I couldn't figure out how to use slicks and itch in the poem..
This work by Porcelain Lotus is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/12/16/wordle-87-a-bakers-dozen/.