The Cliffs

Submitted by Hannah W. on Mon, 06/25/2012 - 04:11

The cliffs of the sea, stunted and black
stretch crookedly in a line between
the land and the sea. And me,
I am well content
with windowsills collecting dust,
and apples every fall 'til come famine or flood.

A dissatisfied grin, a shambled gate:
the cliffs are strung out like skeleton teeth.
Or the teeth of a rake left out in the rain
for too long. And I chose
to stride one side, plant my seeds and feet
rather than water, and drifting for weeks.

High tide, low tide; a gray spring sea
calm 'til it smells a storm on the breeze
and whips itself wild. And I,
with my fields all freshly tilled and sown--
I am just like a sail tugging at the ropes.

And the cliffs bare their teeth, ill and hungry, and dare
me to pass through their crumbling wall.
Come famine or flood, I will. I shall.

Author's age when written


I love the contrast between the hominess of apples and windowsills to the edges of mountains... The adventure and the homefront... Loved it! Quite an accomplishment for a late-nighter!


The Holy Spirit is the quiet guest of our soul." -St. Augustine

That felt like some legend out of a fantasy epic, to me. It was really cool.

"You were not meant to fit into a shallow box built by someone else." -J. Raymond

It ended just as well as it started. Better, even.

I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right. --The Book Thief