Off the Ocean

by flammeusgladius

Off the Ocean

The cold comes off the ocean.
It does not wake the dead.
Secure from painful motion,
They do not know the dread
Of slow or speedy freezing,
Of losing what they lack.
The dead man begs no easing
When lying on his back.

But I’m not of that party.
The cold’s not sparing me.
My shiver rises hearty
Above security.
And here I shall be sitting
Way past the afternoon.
The dead: content, unwitting?
I’ll join them very soon.

–Tom Riley

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