Scripps Pier

Neither made of steel
Nor of braided rope
Do I find these bonds

It is the capturing
Of the mind
That can be most corrupt

Control is as simple
As closing my eyes
Under the pier

Waves cover me
Sand breaking the shell
Salt healing my wounds

I have been “under water” for the last eight weeks. Sometimes work requires every ounce of my being. I may play hooky on Friday and breathe a little.


  1. oh the sounds of the waves and the feeling of each wave washing over your feet, as with each crest is pulls out all the stress and anxiety, leaving behind peace………….I love your poem……very relatable. I hope you are able to take a day of rest………..

    Liked by 1 person

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