Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2010
The wave reached its peak. Curling,
it crashed upon The Black Stone.

We sat—legs dangling off walls edge—watching.

The whispering waves spoke their prophetic secrets,
and we saw ourselves reflected in the pool.
Clearer during high tide but ever-present nonetheless
when the sea was low, wet sand slightly exposed.
Written by
Nick Birney
Please log in to view and add comments on poems