"seizures" poems
I'd like to thank eveybody for their time,
as we conduct this interview in rhyme.
If you have a disability such as mine,
Everybody wants to pry into your mind.
So in this piece im going to address,
all the questions im asked, i intend to put that to rest.
But i can't do this alone, i require some help
Bluestar , thank you so much for providing assistance
Yes thanks, ladies and gentleman, here we go,
What we have here is a fine young specimen,
A young age male with a disability no one knows,
And what is it, you ask?
Why, I don't mind if I do begin to explain him
Epilepsy, that's what it is,
It's what he's got inside
And before you start to ask, no it's not a mental disorder
Do you want to hear the facts or think the fiction, you have to decide
Shall i dispense with the facts?
Hmm with the mighty sword of knowledge ignorance i shall attack!
Epilepsy is a neurological disorder,
It causes me to be prone to seizures.
Not the kind that causes the removal of property,
But occasionally my brain will fry, and my body go crazy,
Like a vampire exposed to holy ether
But don't worry, he's not going to die,
If you're with him when it happens you cannot run and hide
He'll need you to support him, to make sure he's okay
Make sure things are out of his reach and do not force him to obey
In conclusion dear friends, im just like you,
I may have neruological quirks, but im still Neroamee Alucard,
Not some show at the zoo,
So if you know somebody, with any form of fault or disability,
Dont patronize or be overbearing,
Just make allowances for their need
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
by Desmond Makatu,
Your visits are unpredictable.
like a ghost, you're invisible.
The attacks are inevitable.
You come like a thief at night.
You seize me day and night.
"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"
Cruelty unrestricted to age.
Victimising even toddlers.
Unrestricted to ethnic groups.
My life has time gaps.
Gaps, like discrete graphs.
Cracks depict thin line between life and death.
Grace bridges the gaps and life prevails over death.
Seizures still haunt me like a demonic wrath.
"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"
Attacks are brief, bruises lasts forever.
You offer questions only God can answer.
Quest for answers is like probing for cure of Cancer.
Death seemed to be the answer but God thought otherwise.
First seizure shook like multiple earthquakes.
Followed by a pool of darkness.
woke up confused, crowd's ****** expressions said a thousand words.
Migraines raided my head, exposed to enormous pressure.
Officially baptised by wrath of seizures.
"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"
You're a physical and psychological culprit.
Like a Yoyo, you take me into a roller-coaster of emotions.
Aftermaths of your theft are etched in my mind as if they’re on stones.
Behind my “poker face” lies devastating pains than physicals seen by the crowd.
"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"
Watch video on YouTube. https://youtu.be/VggXerYLOHY
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 8:02 PM UTC
****
Bitter tears of pain,
this anguish of my broken soul.
Burning skin with scratches,
pride that will never be whole.
This unending nightmare
of being surrounded by wolves.
Devouring my flesh and innocence,
piece by piece, part by part.
Execrable faces changing like street lights,
lecherous with sarcastic grin, oozing with saliva.
That invidious stench of animalism,
penetrating every pore.
Noxious vandalism breaking every
fiber and destroying the very core.
Thrown on streets, like a soiled cloth,
smeared with ***** and blood.
Unconscious, unclothed, shattered
with unending seizures and spasms.
Wounds heals but scars remains,
And whenever I will touch them
I will relieve the pain.
This question of being woman,
I’ll ask again and again and again.
They say hang’em, but it will
Only be freedom from there hellish mind.
Why not let them be among thousand men
Who **** them, again and again.
Sometimes we have to speak
The language they understand.
bold(Poem dedicated to the victim of **** in Delhi.)bold
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 9:22 AM UTC
There is a road to
sorrow.
The pain is palpable;
it involves
drugs, ***** and
bad women.
It ends with
life under a bridge.
There are lots of
hospitalizations.
It's hell on earth.
Seizures and sickness.
Love was my
haven, but I lost it.
I left ME behind.
Feb 12, 2023
Feb 12, 2023 at 6:58 AM UTC
Reality hanging by a thread.
Coke cans and cannons by my bed.
Show girls shooting up to the head.
Solace for the strong, seizures for the dead.
Pac in the boombox
If the packs don't boom I hope the boom pops.
If the boom don't pop she got a new pops.
Red lips serving blows up on the new blocks.
Humble pie in my abode in a bid to abide.
But the coke on the stove says the law is a lie.
Caught slipping, no snitching so my name shall survive.
Out in 10, when I return
Throw some paper to the sky, let the wind and caution colide.
I'll need a long island on the rocks.
Escape the piles we turn to rocks.
We held their lives within our glocks.
The doors were locked so we turned to the knocks.
Boys in the hood with the little coke babies.
Girls in the hood holding little hope babies.
Daddy never came but we live in hope baby.
All I had were bricks, had to build a home baby.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 3:47 AM UTC
But I'm Not Bitter
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
a dark and dreary day ( I know its Tripe but today it is true )
rain makes me sour and truly an old crone
My skin is too tight and my bones are not nimble but stiff and useless
Stairs are insurmountable and the phone seems too far away for the effort
I no longer try to be pleasant and am left alone
but for my furry mob who can care less my bad mood
my desk chair is surrounded now with hot water bottles
electrical pads and nuke em packs and of course pill bottles
the detritus of pain
It is now a companion old and well known to me
I am told ever "Its age my Dear, Just live with it
I am told "It's all in your mind there's no pain at all"
I am told :Push through it and endure don't acknowledge it ignore it"
When will it leave ? at death ? What a thought to have to drag it with me at the end.
I curse his name
His Family
His Heritage
His Intellect
His Temper
His one action one blow in fury his one tantrum ...
And the sentence is life ...for me
I wonder ..If I saw him could I strike back?
I know there is no forgiveness no saint like pity or absolution
Every time I hit the ground in a seizure he has hit me again
Everyday I cannot climb the stairs in my own home He has thrown me once again through the window and I fall the 6 floors again
Stop holding on to it you'll never get any better ... And I try ..I really do ...
Then the seizures come or I cannot do a simple household task
or I must once more tell a friend I cannot meet them for tea (a selfish luxury)
You know I bet he has not thought of me in years ..but his actions govern what I can do every day of my Life
But I am not Bitter
Solita -2006
Author's Location: Toronto, Ontario
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
Annabelle does sit at play,
In her usual, cheery way.
She does not worry, nor does she fret,
She hasn’t reason to be scared yet.
Then, the seizure overtakes her,
Perhaps caused by a noise, an innocent whir.
“Mom, it’s happening”, she cries,
With her hands she covers her eyes.
“Annabelle, Annabelle, ‘twill all be fine,”
We calmly say, with deep fear inside.
We knew that this was epilepsy,
I wished it wasn’t her, but me.
But she endured the pain and strife,
Now a part of her daily life.
She was strong of heart and head,
Even in her hospital bed.
After a minute, the nausea stops,
And our level of fear gradually drops.
Annabelle returns to her lovely self,
But we know that more seizures will take this sweet, young elf.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
I remember nothing of my childhood.
I just remember red. I
remember mum crying in my arms when i was 8.
I remember you- not a lot.
I only remember those last moments.
The ***** running down your legs. I remember the knot on the bed but not your face.
I remember becoming the family therapist after that. I remember all the times I had to grow up before I was 10.
I remember what was suppose to be my childhood.
But I never got to have one.
Once our sister was old enough to remember I wanted to save her but now when i look at her and what she does I'm sure I failed her too. But someone who is 10 should not be raising her sister.
She grew up never knowing you.
I grew up even faster after losing you.
It's selfish i know to want you here to take some of the responsibility away from me. So that I don't have to deal with mums stress seizures alone. Or raising our sister. Because if you were here we would have a childhood.
And i could lean on you, just like you could have always leaned on me. I wish you were still alive.
you are the only other person has has gone through loosing her too. But you instead saw what she did as a lesson to learn not something to avoid, I hate you for killing yourself when I needed you the most. I hate you for not ******* talking to me and leaning on me. but we were kids. you never got to grow up. So I did it for both of us and started early.
I can't really remember my childhood.
And could really use the memory of ours right about now.
Even if it never happened.
Dec 22, 2021
Dec 22, 2021 at 3:46 PM UTC
as my sister
inspects
her *******
in the white
piece of paper
we both
refer to
as the one
and only
ghost
mirror
I fry
god’s egg
in the plastic
shovel
I took
from a sandbox
shaped
like a coffin
and shiver
like the psychic
who with
the controllable
sobbing
of her hands
gave our seizures
to animals
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC
if he is not made of them wholly, branches, he will be soon. they are everywhere, and he steps on them, and they are arms from hell. he wears a child’s football jersey, torn at his size and his sorrow. he reaches into it and pulls out his heart, a red balloon given the what for, inside of which he blows his nose. he returns the heart.
a yellow adherent hangs from both nostrils, as two ropes being cut at and then loosed from his brain. the first keeps an arm from heaven; the second he catches and loops twice to put on his neck. one is never out of the woods here, and he knows it, knows here is Baltimore, Ohio. he has watched the people, some of them, leave; their happiness would be better called remission.
he is giddy when he comes upon a man wearing only a barrel and he tips it with joy and makes better his headway home. the rolled over branches shriek and wake the man who nakedly bails. the branches up their shrieking.
his mother he has no dementia of his time in her womb. why for **** the despondent are given captions like ‘blank look’ he can’t say for in his mama naught but canvassing eyes. she’s what he calls ‘at grocery’, shaking a coffee can she’ll buy because a done melon can’t hold pennies. she often at the neck is saddled with two toddlers but in his projection now there is just one making miracle of not kicking the coffee can into another’s back.
any girl that occurs lets him take her with his tongue only as she seems to know he was circumcised and after that much paddled.
he starts thinking on dad and dad’s laughing when mother’d say boys be home before dog because that’s how it sounded from seizures and of course rock candy in the summer. the barrel splinters beneath him to be forgotten and his legs go to bleeding stilts.
his last things by his face are insufficient; rock candy, barrel, and twin. I talk on the barrel, I don’t need it, not anymore.
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 1:34 AM UTC
Justin I forgive you, won’t you call me, your birthday must be coming soon we haven’t spoken since we moved our family into the desert. I just pray you’re not seeking cotton fever yet again, chasing the dragon, or at the very least eating school buses while falling into ‘H’ before you find yourself in bed drunk again, and on Ambien too. Dead too soon. You’ve always wondered why I didn’t introduce you to Ryan, my other incredibly dear and brotherly friend. Well wonder none more, he’s in a padded room at Mt. Sinai in Lakeview or perhaps Northwestern’s adult care unit, there was talk or at least I imagined he could make it to Lakeside Manor right there East of Foster. So it’s clemency, peace of mind, and something to loosen the edge off your back, something to let you fall, something to set your pain at weightless your mind at I-Don’t-Have-To-Give-A-Fuck-Anymore, my friend where have you been? Where have you taken yourself? Please drag yourself back at least a half-step, reverse your position and engineer an out please. I can’t begin to accept losing both of my brothers to two versions of the same disease.
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 1:10 AM UTC
I can't decide if earthquakes are caused by shifting rocks
Or if they are the result of the growing faultlines on my palms.
If the quake I feel is from jolts of energy formed due to the earth's crusts rubbing against each other
Or if the quakes are caused by the friction between my palms and my face
Perhaps earthquakes have nothing to do with the fact you left dragging your suitcase behind you
And perhaps it has no correlation with the rubber soles of my shoes and the cobblestone ground
Maybe earthquakes are screams of, "THIS IS TOO MUCH."
Maybe earthquakes are millions tremors whispering, "I can't take much more of this."
I've been struggling with differentiating equations involving inner shaking and outer breakdowns
But I have come to a conclusion that the probability of earthquakes existing within me is fairly close to one
And that the probability of earthquakes being caused by your hurt is possibly closer to one
Most days earthquakes begin from within -
The place where your hands used to cradle my heart is cold
And the ice is travelling from my arteries to my fingernails
Other days, earthquakes stem from the screams of the masses -
"You don't matter," they say, even though I am very much aware
That a flick of my finger could cause the collapse of a tower worlds away
I can hardly comprehend how sudden releases of pain can cause a rift in time and space
And sometimes earthquakes are the seizures that could keep someone alive and **** them at the same time.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
A conversation with my little cousins:
Him: Knock knock!
Me: Who's there?
Him: Doctor!
Me: Doctor Who?
Him: Exactly!
HAHAHAHAHAHA
Me: Hahaha That's very funny darling.
His little brother: KNOCK KNOCK!
Me: Who's there?
His little brother: um... um... I forgot, wait no um POTATO MUFFIN BANANA NINJA!
Me: Potato muffin banana ninja who?
His little brother: EXACTLY! HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Me: Um... yeah. hahaha...
Him: HAHAHAHAHA THAT'S FUNNY!
Me: Um, yes. Sure. ha. haha. hahaha...
His little brother: It's funny because I said POTATO MUFFIN BANANA NINJA and then you said WHO and then I said EXACTLY! HAHAHAHAHAHA
Me: *** I think they are both having seizures...
---------------------
But I love them with all my heart!!!
<3
(My littlest cousin is obsessed with potatoes, muffins, bananas, and ninjas. I don't know it's weird dont ask)
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC
in 2012 i experienced an incident with a rifle. my friend spinned it around and hit me in the face. the hit was hard enough to break my nose and make me fly backwards and land on the back of my head.
after that i started having seizures. cluster seizures which mean seizures back to back. they have to be stopped by iv or i can go into status epilepticus meaning continued or back to back seizures that can **** people. there have been several times where my heart has stopped or i stopped breathing from it. its hard to live with. soooo many pills, and doctors, specialists to help diagnose me. just about a month ago i was diagnosed with tbi (traumatic brain injury) before i was diagnosed i was so upset with everything. my health my relationship, my family problems. it just piled up so i decided to numb myself with drugs and alcohol. i no longer can do that because the last time i did i woke up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. i have right hemisphere disfunction and it effects my motor skills, speech, memory, decision making, confusion, and at this point the doctors say that my memory and confusion is dementia. sometimes i try to tell myself i don't need help, im fine, i don't need anyone, or that the doctors made a mistake. but they didn't and that was proven to me today when i saw my eeg, and mri. i have built up white matter in my brain. and it only gets worse . i can never regain anything ive lost but i can learn how deal with it and move on from now. i can never be independent in the part of just living alone. i would like to marry the man of my dreams but i don't think i want to put him through all of this. he would have to take care of me when i get sick, and i get sick often due to my weak immune system. one hit in the face and my whole body went out of whack. we also recently discovered that i have a bundle branch block in my heart which means it is a condition in which there's a delay or obstruction along the pathway that electrical impulses travel to make your heart beat. i have a dog that can smell my auras which are mild seizures like warnings that a big one will come. but he can only do so much . squeeze under my head and bark for help.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
The Kitten from under the chair
Thank God for the day the drug bust took place
The Sting was set up and the early morning began
Kicking down the door yelling and seeing their face
As the task force entered weapons raised, the victim ran
The sounds of cyiruns from police cars gather, road blocks in place
I wonder that day who of us would go home that night, or that man
weapons drawn and hostage began, police cars every where during the chase
After it was over hostage was released, victim in cuffs arrested were pleased.
Task force enter the building of **** , under the chair was a kitten that was left.
She was so tiny frail and shaken, eyes of fright the kitten was taken
I took her home gave her milk,wrapped her in a blanket ,laid her to rest
Tiny frighten little kitten, She inhaled so much **** sickly and shaken.
I adopted her and gave her a name and so much love I felt.
Her nane is penny and I made sure I would adopt her before she was taken
The kitten from under the chair
She's 18 years old now and has epileptic seizures treated with Phenobarbital and loving care
Oh how I love the kitten from under the chair that has given me so much love
I'm retied and so is she we both love each other til the years set us free.
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 7:40 AM UTC
I’ve had myriad seizures in my life.
I’m however, still alive.
An obscure force constantly attacked me.
A force directly proportional to gravity.
God granted serenity to accept the certainty,
Epilepsy, you’re in my life.
You don’t own my life.
My cognitive function has been dented.
I’ve been labelled and painted.
Sometimes even laughed at.
Seized, fell and rose countlessly.
I soldiered on courageously.
Giving up has never been an option.
I never took my eyes off the goal posts.
Epilepsy tried to shift the goal posts.
Against all odds, I graduated.
Applause as I approach the podium.
They applaud for academic success.
I however applaud for overcoming epilepsy.
Hospital was my other home during studies.
Marks capped, academic record not true image of success.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC
A scintillating ocean.
Refracting light across the spectrum,
colours beyond white, black, and red;
Mirror to the universal spirits.
Crystalline forms growing
like families of fungi across the horizon.
A mycological configuration
of salts and waveform reflectors.
A frisson of diamonds.
Seizures of globular light, elliptical rainbows.
Twice-reflected hollow moonbeams.
Creating.
Cubes in the molecular structure,
Silent carbon and quartz,
as from some distant caverns
unseen by any eye.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 3:11 PM UTC
It's been a month and I'm already sick of this
The twitching when I write
When I roll my eyes back
People looking at me funny
All I ever hear about from the stupid kids is,
"Seizure Sara!"
"Seizure Sara!"
Sometime I even get a ***** look from someone
Like I can help it
My good friends are now afraid of me
They treat me like a helpless animal
Every time someone ask
I have to explain the whole **** thing to them
Help me
Help my seizures
Help my fear
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
I am dream, made flesh!
Cut
from your design
Burning,
Inflamed,
Caressed by your
Love.....
Purrrrrring softly...
Naked heart-print's press upon the tissue
Of trembling thunder;
I bend
Beneath his breath
While he permeates
A rake of glittered stars
Across my skin;
The barrier
Between his tongue and my scent...
Scarlet
He holds me ... liquid,
Framed to his eyes,
Teased
******* hard;
The melt of ice, fed on
The heat of his tongue;
Shedding night's skin
In shades of twilight...
Dark, eyes gaze through mine
Caressing
Silken pleasures;
The moistness of a stolen kiss,
Willing, wet,
Tasting the tender;
Of palpitating curves,
Of Soft thighs, quivering
Moving
Slow enough to
Swallow...
A tigress, unleashed, beneath
Her tamer's trance
I vary my pose,
The audacity of my savage
Innocence
Meets his gaze,
River-wild and dark,
The moment.... opaque
Darkened silk;
The slide,
Palms down,
My skin alive at the burn
As hips gyrate
On the rub
Burning where shadows curve,
Creating the fire of
Hunger...
A writhe of craze
A pause to breathe
To shut hard
The breath of me
As he inhales
Slim ecstasies, skin
Seizures
Immersed in milky secrets
Weak, with love.....
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 3:15 PM UTC
Your pink silky touch makes my body go through seizures.
My veins are homeless, smothered in poverty and have been craving for soul food.
Im in a cacoon. My peace sign fingers in between my flower are working overtime,pumping and extracting the pollen of satisfaction.
It drips all over your white sheets. An eye of feasting awaits.
The movement of our soul connection is stoccatto. A two second breathing and rest from the uphill journey must occur.
Like a paint brush,your lips paint your intense emotions on my body. An abstract piece of art is what i reflect and look like.
You broke the cacoon.
Freed the catapillar of distruction and void.
The butterfly roams around in delight and euphoria.
My flower is embroided with your aura, little stitches of love threads hang down my thighs.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
A pounding
seizures and nausea
violence, fountains of cascading
mankind's bleeding, gushing
puncture wounds of wine
Dreamkillers out of their way to wreak
smoldering, rancid havoc
Epilepsy and ******** muscles spasms
Brain-tissue scarring from the rocking
between heavenhell and deathlife
Give me your soul and I'll
twist it into strands with which I
hang myself and make a tourniquet around your
neck
Dancing or slaying be one
I **** and lascerate the remnants of my
skin, my soul stretched across the
traintracks, waiting for pleasure
pleasurepleasure in gore and flesh
and wriggling maggots in the eyesockets
of children
Too bad
we all have to wake up come down
inandout of this horrific flying breathing fantasy
rapture of adulterated movement
Sin in all its glory licks the black flames
ashestoashes and dust into mud
blud across the vacuum
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 5:48 PM UTC
Regrets like seizures wake me
Upon me, upon me, dawn
There is a noose in the sheets
Bars on the door, locked
Forgotten but the dream
Rain outside, an imposter
Leaves me here, dawn
Waiting for you, slowly
Surely up my leg, it winds
Closer to my limbs, my fluid
MY THROAT, dawn
Closes in short
Severed, charred hot spasms
BREATHE
I haven’t slept for weeks
And the regrets like seizures
Burn me Choke me Wake me
Wake me
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 3:16 PM UTC
Who are you?
Why are you leaving?
Where are you going?
I uttered these words during a seizure.
Imagining you puts my mind under pressure.
I quest for your identity like a hunt for treasure.
Am I haunted by a demon disguised as a seizure?
Seizure or not, I certainly spoke to you.
Begging you not to leave as if I knew you.
Still I ask: who are you?
Seized and captured by epilepsy, I couldn’t overtake you.
Overtake to see your face.
I woke up, you vanished without a trace.
In your next visit be bold and show your face.
A mysterious character within my seizures.
The next visit is unpredictable.
Seizures are inevitable.
Epileptic seizures, an obscure disability.
Like Epilepsy: will this mysterious image remain obscure?
A seizure lured me to a pond of muddles.
like a friend I pled against your departure.
Now I'm awake hence I plead for your departure.
Still I ask: who are you?.
https://www.facebook.com/EpilepsyandCpfriends/
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 7:06 PM UTC
You are amazing.
You are more than the pain
More than the loneliness
More than the desperation.
You are more than their looks
More than their stares
More than Autism, Mitochondria Disease,
More than the seizures.
You are you
Which is enough.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
the lovely picture window (always the same, always different)
There are painters who must,
having found the place, must,
repaint it, compelled to repeat it,
each a variant, yet always the same,
always different
I awake to a perspective that is wide,
always differentiated from the prior,
always almost similar, but never with
the same exactitude, differing attitude,
same longitude, identical latitude,
always different
horizon distanced, in all ways a view
encompassing, duality near, far distant,
harmoniously, eyes open, magnetized
to wake before 6am by the suns modesty,
first light, first clarity, a curtain risen, yet,
always different
am I so blessed or thus cursed, for the urge
to disclaim and ode, compose and thus self-
decompose, analyze, reflect, slice apart, needing
the comprehensive understanding this me/place
scripts the raw appreciation, daily differentiated
always the same
this peaceful venue seizures, chest calmly
pounding at the insistence it commands,
the price I must pay for the prize to praise,
to sing, weep, reward restful sleep with lyrics
eked out, pouring, unsustainable yet finished,
always different
a single May Iris, returns, born from a torrential,
thunder, lightning, sky mayhem, rises by a sundial
greets midst a planted clump, upright rises, lavender,
in a majestic solitary, absent but a day prior, yet mine eyes
failed to witness its discernible emerging birthing creation,
always different,
always the same
here, I am Iris too, always the same, a day aged,
but the differences minute but stolid actualized,
this overnight sensation, my body’s restoration,
what I visualize, indivisible, now visible, realized,
miracle of continuity, unchanging chained change,
always different ,
always the same
wonder, am I more blessed, or a s~lightly cursed being,
my breath restored, wet eyes full brimming, changed,
revived but always modified, a newer old man, whose
sum total always a different number, but in sequential,
compelled to confess, no understanding of this miracle,
always the same,
always different,
this daily visionary miracle
6:36 AM
Fri May 24
2024
Silver Beach,
Shelter Island
May 24, 2024
May 24, 2024 at 6:53 AM UTC