Surfing
Turqouise water, rippled with veins of white
The startling cry of a seagull
Alone in the melancholy mist of the morning
My hands stroke through the water
As my body precariously lays on my board
The freedom out here is magnificent
I drown in it
I chase that feeling always
Everything I do is so I can feel it again
It is my motivation, my freedom, and my sense of self
Surfing.
This poem is about:
Our world