Lyme Regis 2100

Torrid plumes of grey arise, crashing back to the rocks below
Cold is not the word this morose English day
A random sheet of deadly grey glass I confront
Rolling in the winds
Swirling torrent of peaceful rage
Won’t let me turn the page

Horned and brooding, snarling, crazed
Dark coils in the distance, roll by in the wind
Bedraggled, drowning, docile, dazed
The eyes of the storm are stalking me.

Beneath my feet lay the sands of time
Ground, pummelled, blasted lime,
The cliff face stretched high, bridging the sky
A span to halt the tide

Grey and grey collide, merging upon the dotted line
My eye is drawn to the epicentre
A brilliant explosion of rainbow light
Irradiates the scene
A psychedelic moment of pure delight
Brightens the marine.

The eel God emerged from the tempestual soup,
His feathers drying in the breeze
Raking me with his deadly scream

Cut my eyes with his razor wings
Distributing disease.
A crimson drop floats atop the surface
A miniature slick of an epic proportion
Smell it on the breeze; “Take Caution”
An epilogue for me.

With a bite and a stab and a tear and a snort
A rip and a shove, a bite and a bark
The eel God tore on and on and on
Until the last of man was gone

Lyme Regis 2100

spandexbeast

Joined March 2008

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