Grey Blue Beach

Black fingers of the tree snake toward the slate skies.
Granite rocks do not care for the tireless assault of the sea.
It is lonely here but I am at peace.
Gulls cry instead of me.
The horizon is cerulean.
The clouds are bruised.
The moon cannot even break through
To shine her sad face onto the pebbles.
But a faint glow ripples on the waves.
Turning away, even the moon has
Forsaken the beach and I.
The gulls quiet, and instead
I cry.