By: Amelia Rose
Cold winds beat the rock
That juts from the sea where,
The harsh waves chip at the protrusions
That resiliently hold their own.
The seacliff stands tall; erect
Mingling with the winds
And slashing through the clouds
That drift serenely eastward
Minding their own business.
The deep mist of dawn
Hangs in the air; intensifying
The density that chokes;
Warding off unwanted visitors
From this sacred, holy place.
A sliver of sunlight
Pierces through the pervading mist
Illuminates a crevice
Too high up to swim to
Too far down to reach by land
A spark; a glint of light
Refracts from within
Shines for just a moment
And is gone just as quickly.
Echoes of death swirl mysteriously
From the depths within the cave
Caught by the wind, carried to the sea
Washed onto the shores of sentience, feeling; life.
Known mystery reverberates
In steady rhythm
Upon the metal of a gate
Perfect metal that never tarnishes
Never rusts, never ceases
To guard its charge
With every sense of duty, honor and purpose
A seagate can have.
Tall and imposing (but secretly not)
From within the gate’s unknowing watch
The secrets escape the rock