Cold Floor


It seems as I struggle to the surface, an other wave crashes over me.
And when the sun finally breaks, a giant storm churns the sea.
I crawl to the shore to rest my head in the sand
From a cold stone floor, I lift myself to stand.
The island breeze, once cool and sweet,
Now whips my skin with sand-paper heat.
Seeking the comfort of shelter, a safe reprieve,
I head for the tree line, to hide in its leaves.
Now pricked by thorns and to rmented by flies,
I run through the forest, so full of lies.
There! in the clearing, a sheer rock-cliff,
So steep and slick.
Towering tall, it looks like salvation,
An end to it all.
How long will I be sleeping in this mans bed?

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