Possessed by
a desperate urge
to grow, to glow,
to inhale and roar
out the glory of hope
held by a soul
once thought
long-gone,
I try to set my gaze
on the horizon
and simply… go.
Driftwood, oak,
flotsam, soaked,
saltwater is home
for the billowing sails
of life-starved poets.
Wake and wave,
detritus un-saved,
carry me over the crest,
swell-side, seabrave,
breaking,
alive,
whatever lies ahead
fills the holes
of what is left
behind.
© CG Tenpenny, 2022.
