Posted in Octameter

Weathered

The ocean rolls in.
Foam covers my toes,
wet sand grabs my feet.
I’m locked in this place.
My lifeless statue,
with sad, empty face
and nothing to feel,
refuses embrace.

The sea sprays its mist.
An angry sun burns.
Denying defeat,
my dry eyes insist
that nothing is wrong.
Yet letdowns persist.
I hide in this space
with no saving grace.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 6/25/14 prompt at Creative Bloomings “Inform Poets” to write a poem in the Octameter style.

2 thoughts on “Weathered

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