by Christine Redderoth-Roderick

He sat and contemplated the ocean before him.
He held its beauty in his mind, moving it around;
afraid it would leave his mental grasp.
He loved the ocean and everything about it.
At night the sand would feel cold and soft under his feet.
During the day hot and coarse.
The waves mirrored a paint brush stroking a canvas,
the colors ever changing,
the lines moving faster than he could process.
The sound of the waves hitting the beach
was music to his ears.
When the wind blew and the seagulls sang
it was a symphony of sounds that he became engaged in.
The sky above reflected the mood of the life below;
angry, calm, peaceful and sometimes confused.
It smelled of both life and death.
Ray sat on a rock like a man sits in a museum,
hoping to interrupt the piece before him.

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by: southpawokpoet

You must love the ocean, it shows in your work, I just simply like it. It reminds me of someone. rest gently please. Dusty

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