Thom Theisland

Ebony Fiction - Poem by Thom Theisland

Patterns of boats docked on wet sand;
oaken splinters.
Dead trees give no relief
from the licking embers of afternoon.
They only drive on in silence,
past the ebon coast.

Topic(s) of this poem: philosophy

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, April 20, 2014

Poem Edited: Sunday, April 27, 2014

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