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May 2016
The dark pitch of night
swallows a white beach whole.


A light tower, a beacon,

holds hope captive, as it searches

wide-eyed, the waves beyond.


A volley ball named Wilson

teases the fickle, peeking shore,

with an open-handed face.


His rounded neck bobs, at the waves' inclination,

his gaze straining, lifting,

alighting on a striped base.


The perfect storm

laughs at the irony.

It is beneath him.


Rescue would've been imminent,
if Wilson had just been served.
Written by
TD  F
(F)   
861
         mister truth, K C Sikat, BLT, Carlo C Gomez, --- and 6 others
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