When will it come, the sea?

maczhb @ pixabay

When will it come, the sea?
Marbling coldly
‘Cross my narrow shins
To pull me in.

When will it come, the wind?
Sighing ghostly
With soft beckoning
Against my skin.

When will it come, my sleep?
Purging mouldy
Gasps and helpless grins
Of suffering.

When will it come, the dark?
To console me
From the harrying
Of life’s constant din.

When will it come, the earth?
And enfold me
Every inch of skin
To purge my sins.

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