"Category 5"
There's a storm on the horizon.
An abundance of quick witted
flurries whirling through the air
between your thunderous mouth
and my stone filled seashore.

Your waves rage
because you do all
the pushing and pulling,
so those little oars of mine
must be idle, right?

Your clouds spent their time away from me,
so I found solace in watching the birds,
and now you're mad
that I don't need you to entertain me anymore.
So, I must be idle, right?

Or maybe I got tired of eroding myself
to give way to your arrogance.
Maybe that princely grin
followed by, "I'm still just a boy",
has lost its effect on me.

The sands that fill my time
and slip through my fingers
only exist because I keep waiting
for you to build our sandcastle,
but instead you place stones on my seawall.


© J.M.M.Powell