with a gaze that screams
in an otherwise silent landscape
you look across at us with disdain
as we push on through
the snow blankets, those resting
below the cold ground
cleaning the muted tones in an afternoon
and remaining steadfast
Burgh Island
grey skies and ochre sands
call me like aching sirens to romp across
them to a place who’s
bricks and mortar share no secrets
jagged rocks litter the landscape
like gasping humpbacks
taking a last breath
before their descent
trawling up the grassy verge
the sound of childrens
laughter caught on the wind,
growing short of breath
over the sheer edge
swell as dark as navy rum
persistantly eats the opposing dirt,
adding to the already opaque broth
reaching the peak
you are rewarded with shelter,
in which, ideas germinate in
regards to its birth
often drivel 