Orange, pink, saffron what not,
Seagulls screeching, pulling higher fast,
Waves lash upon lash on the cold hard rock,
Like a pillar of fortitude I stand taut.
The water streaming down my eyes
Also bathe my calloused feet,
I have walked miles today and nigh
Should I cut out what I really believe.
That no maker had sought such paints,
That this self-same picture I did create,
Maker of my thoughts, maker of my life,
Some little filth, some anomalies to expiate.
That make the Sunrays lashing hard
Bruise my hard, rotten, pickled skin,
I know not forever if strength will last,
As the sun illuminates the dun and din.
But standing rooted, gazing at the orange hues,
A sweat breaking down, a tear curling down,
The waters covering, wiping the calluses
I gaze, a smile now covering the frown.
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