Here is where the oceans meet
Under the boiling Northern clouds
Where the sandpiper picks at the sandy surf
Here is where the angry dark ocean boils
As the raged waves crash against each other
And the tired bearded fishermen try to sell
Their still flopping fish to women who
Glare fearfully at the nearing storm clouds
Hovering menacingly over the old, used lighthouse
Who’s light slowly glanced over the pylons
Barring the world war two bunkers from when
Germany controlled the Northern Point
Before the green graffiti was painted
On the closed supermarkets yellow brick wall
In this storm-fearing country
-Jonas
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