The Gull FINAL DRAFT

I am She, The Gull,

Flyer of repetitive trances.

When wording such a promised voice,

landings crumble barren dances.

He shells each dynamic piece,

For recognition of the design lacks.

And while horrizons shine, shine exceptionally,

the black sea mirrors grew black.

Upon the walk of God,

a renounced dream shudders.

He speaks loudly to the oysters,

of a renown faith they must uncover.

I've read several times and get something new each time. I love the beautiful imagery and didn't think you could improve on the original. Guess I was wrong.

Thank you for taking the time to read and compare my work! I am so thankful an I am glad that one feels anything at all.

Blinded see gulls comes to mind.
Bindings loosed and left behind.
your writing is not only read but experienced!