White, wooden, sunlit masts stand great and tall, like wise old sea-men remembering and recounting whaling battles of their exciting youth. Ships rock back and forth, softly calming and creakily singing to their warm cargo as a mother does her newborn child. The bleached seagulls fly, quietly chattering amongst themselves as though spreading great bird gossip, looking down and fixing their appearances in the glassy, mirror-like water below them.
The sea eavesdrops on conversations, and I, listening carefully, can hear the soft scratching of their quills as they document the events overheard, and watch as the frothy overflow of their white ink peaks at the crests of waves. The ocean strains, reaching closer and closer towards the hot, sandy ground, longing to hear more tales concerning the world of land. Sipping my bubbly, brown coffee, content with the magnitude of the beauty I have observed, I return to my beckoning lunch.
Beautiful 💕
I was into the scene that you described so so so beautifully.
'The bleached seagulls fly, quietly chattering amongst themselves as though spreading great bird gossip.'
This is where I want to be you know. 😊
Amazing 💕
Keep Writing 👮
Beautiful 💕
I was into the scene that you described so so so beautifully.
'The bleached seagulls fly, quietly chattering amongst themselves as though spreading great bird gossip.'
This is where I want to be you know. 😊
Amazing 💕
Keep Writing 👮
I actually found the ending really funny, it was very eye catching and enticing. I just couldn't not read it. The picture of the poem popped into my head as I continued reading. Thank you for writing and keep doing it I could see you having a poetry book at some point would be a pleasure to read x