The first step is dry, cracked,
like a desert in the peak of summer,
craggy and carved upon by feet and shoetreads.
It has seen a kiss,
and a thousand tears.
I left my heart on that step knowing it may
be safe from the tide,
but never from the people who sat upon it.
like a desert in the peak of summer,
craggy and carved upon by feet and shoetreads.
It has seen a kiss,
and a thousand tears.
I left my heart on that step knowing it may
be safe from the tide,
but never from the people who sat upon it.
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When the tide is highest, and it seems
to lap at the door,
it leaves a slick coat of seasalt across the rim of stone
and settled crabs between the cracks.
It has tasted all the screams I have sent to the oceans maw,
hoping they may leave me
and be swallowed in the blue.
They never were.
as if testing the water.
It's been a bit battered by the shale- dented
and dinged up,
but it has character.
A need to find out what may be deeper.
The third step is the point of no return,
when the sea is simply too close
and the door too far to come back to.
Fish have nibbled its edges, and
it has grains of sand upon its top face that
wriggle like ants in the waves.
It feels lonely here, as if
this step is attempting to be forgotten.
to vanish completely into the abyss.
It calls me.