Horizon’s Edge

Dry.
Brittle.
A shell, wispy and
fragile.

Worn.
Empty
and poised

at the edge of the sea,
struggling against the wind
that blows towards a grey horizon,

unsure what lies beyond,
monsters,
or the promised land.

About this poem

Life has been about major changes this past year. And there are more ahead. What does that mean? What lies on the other side? When, oh when, I sometimes ask, will the winds of change die down so I can catch my breath?

The picture was taken in Oswego, NY.

Tom