by David Mullen

Created on: June 18, 2008

Sea Cliff

Standing at land's edge
Cragged face set to sea
O' hammer pounding swells
The white-clawed witch
I defy thee

Rushing high tides
Whipping sea spray
Ice winter gales
Howling hurricanes
Pock my aged face
And define me

Wash away the softer tuft
Leave behind basalt
Harder, heavy, tough.
Becoming more myself,
One standing fore the storm
From which a kind of truth
Harsh beauty may be born

And though the length of running years
Will lay me to the sea,
And only mute and lonely stones
Will a witness be

In truth was I an ancient face
Who stood before the sea,
And so became such a one
Who breaking came to be.

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