I Stand To Be Corrected

As I stand here
With feet in sculpted sand
I look out to sea
For guidance perhaps...
Perhaps for hope...
Perhaps for a sign...
Who really knows

Waves toss seaweed
Like a limp rag doll
And the ocean...
Churns the depths below

I offer up my soul
But alas...
It returns to me
Along with the flotsam

Apparently...
It is not perfection
It is not...
Of virginal purity...
And so...
Here I stand...
Waiting to be corrected

Please...
Let the frigid wind
That blows the gale fierce
Blow through these bones...
And tear away my pain
Let it cast away my torment
Let it whip through my very being
And remove that which is evil
From my soul...

But alas...
I fear...
That when the storm dies
And all is calm again
All that shall remain of me...
Is a pile of salt bleached bones!

Dee Daffodil (HW) 22 September,2008




Poetry by Dee Daffodil
Read 691 times
Written on 2009-01-18 at 18:22

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Yes my friend, but that which took flight of you, is the best of your zest of lifes cycles, imo your poetry will correct you in memorial stand. Smiling at you, loving your poem, so smoothly expressed, Tai
2009-01-22