True Grit

Totem fit for a Temple,

Stone Steadfast. Set

with a snarl that could cleave Oak.

Teeth a crenellated fortress.

Yet so fluid.

Rippling features.

The nose? A whale’s tail,

Slamming down between Octopus and swirling

ocean current.

Bathed in Sunset stained horizon’s light,

As if atop a Viking prow.

Or Inca guardian?

Perhaps all of these.

Teased out in grains

and clouds of chiselled thoughts.

High above ashes and dust,

by a voyager

with bold, strong hands

now of the earth.


© Tom Tide 2017


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