There stands a figure by the shore
In this world like none before
Seas and clouds of misty gray
Reveal themselves to those who stay
For if I were to follow you
Birds would sing of my doom, too

even today
I can't tell if the ocean
is raging war
on the shore,

or  every wave
is a desperate attempt
to get back to his lover.

Someday I hope to write something that will grow wings within your heart and let it soar high above all that weighs up your mind . I hope my words allow your soul to sing louder than the noise that clutters your abilities , and you release your magic light upon the darken world of all , whom walk seeing ,yet are blind.  I hope that my words are your life jacket as the current of life grips you ,and you swim ashore to those awaiting for your return . I hope when I’m gone from this life , my words are still used to guide you into a beautiful sunset at the end of the day. To know my simple words , allowed you to dance with tears , either of sadness or happiness, That’s what I wish of my written words .

Written by E. M . Rushton.
May 30th 2019 ©️Copyright reserved 2019

I would be but a lone piece of wood
               floating in an ocean of loneliness.


                           Never gathering on a shore.


But static in an ocean of
                          tides carrying me nowhere.


We may float, but drown slowly in our silence.

I once met
a man
who was
reading
a book
before we
parted ways
and I said to
him before I left,
“I understand
what’s it like
to be immersed
in a book”, and
he said, “yes,
you more anyone
else” and so, I left
with a content heart,
forever in the memory
of the conversation,
where we were in
the deep ocean
of words, before
the wind came,
and we returned
to the shore, as
humans
once more.

When the tides were soft and calm,
the island was strikingly abundant
When the tides were harsh and strong,
the island disappeared in a blink
past fighting for its place in the ocean.

Fall with a curtsy;
Canvas of the wind;
Lace of the sea.
The shore is **** yet barely obscene
Looking closely,
I just see, me  
and all of myself longs it could be.

Her restless feet,
take her somewhere;
where she can finally meet
the sky and the ocean.
For years she've been waiting;
barefoot wanderer longing for
sand and sea salt,
sunsets by the shore.

shoreline littered

broken shells,

bits of seagrapes,

parts of a dead crab,

and footprints.

sand sticks onto my legs
as i crawl out of the water.

stench of salt in my hair,
as i walk the shoreline.

french fry in gull's beak,
as i toss my food away.

god i love the beach.