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Spurn

May 28, 2013

A hard rustling dance through the sea pebble undergrowth
takes me to shore where driftwood dreams gather.
Lighthouse stands bashful, waiting for darkness to
unveil its party piece and delight the night sky.

A lone soul, I dodge spray sent taunting by wind and tide.
All this is mine. A bleak, broken outpost where
even gulls fight the gusts.

I feel the silence inside despite surrounding sound
that won’t be quietened. A solitary reward in
a spit without friends.

The storm comes in like a bar room brawl.
Flailing, falling hard against the condemned land.
And then through the downpour they come
bent low against the deluge.

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