The storm


The river meets the sea

freshwater meets salt,

they flow into each other

and the scene’s at halt.

Mist hangs overhead

the visibility’s low,

I’m over water

and I row, row, row.

10:00 am:

The sun has now risen

and perforated the fog,

in this labyrinth of archipelagos

I am but a frog.

11:00 am:

I am in this dinghy small

so close by the shore,

the tide’s at complete ebb

yet it recedes even more.

The silence is stunning

and the air hangs damp,

just a bit before midday

but the sun’s a fading lamp.

11:30 am:

The tide’s receding constantly

the sky’s now ashen gray,

it’s brewing, it’s coming

it’s just on its way.

The storm:

The sea lifts itself in rage

I can almost taste the brine,

I am alone in the waters

with this boat of mine.

Me in the storm:

Let the winds come

let recorded history see,

how I embrace this storm

that brews within me!

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