*By Rebecca Shapland and Phen Weston*
Burning cold water licks his toes
And the winds tug and pull at his clothes,
Whisper with woe it’s too late it’s too late
But he stands fast as an anchor, he watches and waits.
The dawn squalls prick his thrifting heart
Frozen to murmers, the sudden depart,
Drives cessation, the sinner, the sinned,
The form’s primal crimson, suddenly thinned.
A throbbing white star spreads celestial fingers
Which caress his face, where anxiety lingers.
He aches for her form to crack the horizon,
Wet orbs coalesce in cathartic ptisan.
And on the ether her lexis is lost,
Placating the whispers of storms that have tossed
The filament of longing into the dust.
His soul slips between zephyr, blistering rust.
Bitter buds of grief grind between teeth
When the still, silent hour creeps cloaked as a thief.
Fall once again, Oh, Sisyphus, my brother,
And the waves consume him like a soft, nervous lover.
© Rebecca Shapland & Phen Weston, 2016.
This is a collaboration with my brilliant friend Rebecca Shapland! Who is awesome! Rebecca is fairly new to WordPress so make sure to click here and follow her wonderful blog, you will really enjoy her beautiful words. Take care, my friends!