I watched the rain drops slowly collect upon the windshield, as I sat parked overlooking the water.
I had always admired a good storm.
Storms were like great lovers and fine whiskey.
Destructive in nature and often gone no sooner than they had arrived.
I never could fathom being away from the ocean.
It was my home, I had bared it's wrath yet still there was something tragically beautiful about its nature.
The sea had called many men to their watery grave and I was happy enough baring its abuse from the shore.
She had spared me where others lost everything around them.
Maybe she felt pity for something as pathetic as myself.
Or maybe she yearned to see me suffer.
The ocean is chaos never ending, much like all the memorable women in my life they were always happy to leave me with a scar and little else.
I watched the storm roll in, as I had done so many times before.
A fool builds his home upon the sand and a poet pens odes to those that can never return the sentiment.
The best poems are all tragic by design.
And this is no differ than the rest.
John Patrick Robbins
Is the editor of The Rye Whiskey Review, Drinkers Only and Under The Bleachers.
His work has published by. The San Pedro River Review, Punk Noir Magazine, Ariel Chart, The San Antonio Review, Red Fez ,As It Ought To Be Magazine, Piker Press.
He is also the author of Sex Drugs & Poetry from Whiskey City Press. and Once Upon A Nervous Breakdown from Soma Publishing.
His work is always unfiltered.
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