Fantastical Needs Met
The tide rushed in,
cold and damp
A parody blanket
for a shivering champ.
The sand is cold,
a powdery prison
that leaves empty,
no hopes to hold.
There's need of nothing tragic,
only something warm.
Maybe a bit of magic,
to weather a storm.
👁 1💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.