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  • Writer's pictureTony Frobisher



A silent beach.

The night lull,

The wind stilled.

The pebbles are cold underfoot

The sand not yet revealed,

Waiting for the tide retreat.

First light and the black water

Spills waves in bottle glass green

No urgency, only rhythm.

I stand under purple clouds

Bruised, wounded, waiting

For the sea-healing.

A lick of sunlight and the

Sea murmurs in silver tones,

Quick waves, a dawning.

I wait for the warmth,

Ignoring the new wind,

Watching the first gulls.

Barefoot across the pebbles

The shoreline, an expectant sea.

A liquid dawn embrace.

I feel the waves.

The water stings,

Replacing my fears.

The sea heals.


There is something incredibly soothing, healing, about the sea.

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