Boneyard Beach

The sun rises over

The choppy atlantic.

Hot yellow beams

Cut through the cold.

Dried broken branches

reach high up into the

morning air at dawn.

 

At night, as the sun

drops back into the sea.

New life emerges from

the cracks in the branches.

Small delicate creatures

eek out their nightly lives.

Until the cycle ends.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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