Soar

The salt and the brine and the glory;

The surfer caught in the ecstasy of the wave,

Up she goes,

Hands in the air,

Head thrown back,

Wet hair whipped by the wind,

She is rising, soaring,

And now –

Falling.

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Published by

caitlincacciatore

A poet driven by the quill, a dreamer of impossible dreams, a lover of that which the world has deemed unlovable. We're all stories in the end. This is mine.

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