SHALL I SPEAK?

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SHALL I SPEAK?

Shall I speak of the gentle whisper?

The slow rise and fall

Of the Ocean’s beating chest,

The wax and wane of the waves;

The deep murmur of the pebbles

Tingling like asthma

Through the Planet’s breath…

And this marks out time.

 

The sun circles the ocean

Like a gaily coloured matador

gashing it’s blood-like light

Across the tumultuous surface

of it’s endless prey…

Will it yet boil the ocean’s away?

Copyright Dale Beck 2018

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