Embracing the Madness

Sea Fever

Swim? Nope, never learnt.
Mess about in boats?
Nope, get seasick.
But I must go down
To the sea again.
To a lonely spot,
A peaceful spot, and
Bathe in it's tranquility.

The lonely sea and the sky
Are food for the soul.
The howling winter gale,
Atlantic rollers crashing
Against the shoreline,
The plaintive cry of gulls
Intruding upon my thoughts
Disturbing the muse again.

A haar* rolls in sneakily
Bringing the horizon
Closer and closer,
Obscuring all from view.
All sound distorted, dislocated
In time and space.
Then just as quickly clears,
And all is well with nature.

No composer could ever
Create a symphony to
Compare to Mother Nature's
Symphonic wall of sound.
No artist can recreate
The abstraction of the
Suicidal spray leaping
From the igneous rocks.

* haar, a fog usually around the coast.