The Calling Poem by Kwathar Temitope

The waves whisper to me, calling me to the soft sand.
The water sweeps over my feet, surrounds where I stand.

The breeze caresses my face, whips my hair.
The wind encloses my body, acknowledging I'm there.

The clouds clotting out the sun, turning gray with anger.
The sky no longer blue, a clear warning of danger.

The rain pelting my skin, as cold as ice.
The water seeping in my bones, undeniably concise.

The world calling to me, pulling me out.
The atmosphere thicker, it's my sorrow no doubt.

The waves grew higher, crashed over my head.
The breath blown away, unmistakably dead.