Ocean Blanket Poem by Kel Smith

walking, rushing, running
the warm wind runs wispily across her face.
the sweet odor of the Japanese plum
exuding from the deep crimson blossoms,
the tangy salt air fills her lungs.
petals fall about her
knocked from their humble resting place,
they taunt and tease her as she runs.
the wind grows fiercer, stinging her porcelain face
she rushes toward the sea.
A steeply pitched staircase,
a journey complicated.
the wind tugging threateningly at her coat,
she continues down the stairs.
Arriving, walking, maneuvering,
she winds her way through sodden rocks,
the rain begins to fall.
Deserted, the fog begins to thicken by the shore.
She pushes onward, determined.
'Maybe this is foolish? ' she thinks.
It was too late.
like a door to a prison cell, the fog surrounded her
masking like the hangman's veil.
she stood cold and trapped as if entombed,
icy rain soaking through her pale skin.
she collapses, her hands outstretched
feeling the sting of earth, redness trickles from her numbed palms,
water washing all around.
she begins to cry, her body stiffening,
rigid like a piece of wood.
nearby, the angry sounds of the untamed surf,
her body pressed firmly into the rocky earth,
the salty sea spray stinging her eyes.
her hands cut and bleeding, she pushes herself up.
she falls again, cold, weak, a gash on her head.
the ground beneath her becoming a torrent of red.
it wasn't supposed to be like this.
exhausted she lay, her head resting on the cutting stones
water rushing around her, growing deeper.
hugged tightly in a ball,
she tries to breathe, the briny drink on her lips.
salt encrusting her body, the fog becomes suffocating.
her fragile frame, at first tense, resisting....relaxes.
the ocean wraps around her like a blanket,
warm and comforting.
her weary, pale, delicate body, gone cold, unmoving.
the sea becomes her grave.
the angered sea calms, a beam of light peeks through.
her battle lost. it wasn't supposed to be.