The Sea’s Dead Touch

Face up, I’m floating.

I’m Buoyant, bloating.

No waves to wake me,

the Dead Sea claims me.

I’m alone, but free,

my ears are beneath

ripples, unceasing.

A lone albatross

circles the glossy,

marbled sky on high.

“I will sink.” I sigh.

Sink, I certainly will.

The depths and the chill

of the Sea’s Dead Touch…

they shan’t miss me much.

Perhaps the albatross will.


© CGT, 2017.

Blogging Poetry

Obol View All →

Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.

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