Wild Waves

Crash and gallop onto grey white sands like wild horses, manes of mist and foam tossed,

Over the chattering audience of silver-black pebbles and stones,

The sharp edges cut me, as does the winter breeze whipping across my face,

But I don't care about the cold,

It only excites me all the more,

Drenched, carelessly stood too close,

Secretly adoring the cold sea on my frozen skin,

A black-silver line of the horizon from a distance,

A mirror or an ocean of blood,

Words can't describe it,

If I could capture it in watercolour,

I would be the most talented girl in the world,

But the fact that you can't capture it,

Just makes it all the more perfect.

The End

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